


Oaths and Vows

by cjtheshort



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Additional Tags to Be Added, Alternate Universe, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Getting to Know Each Other, M/M, Non-Explicit, Pon Farr, Slow Burn, Unplanned Bonding, Unwanted Bonding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-25
Updated: 2018-04-13
Packaged: 2018-12-25 21:32:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 24,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12044700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cjtheshort/pseuds/cjtheshort
Summary: Leonard McCoy has the chance to serve his remaining 25 years of duty on a peaceful vessel, far away from the front lines of territory wars. If only going above and beyond the call of duty didn't have him booted to a sand trap of a planet with a greenblooded 'husband'.





	1. First, Do No Harm

"Alright, now just hold still," Leonard tried easing the chuckle from his voice to seem more professional, but nothing could stop it. A sunny autumn day and friendly colonists were more than enough to put him in a good mood. "There, that wasn't so bad, was it?" He asked the little girl as he tossed away the hypospray. She shook her head, dark curls bouncing freely as her mother picked her up from the table. They parted with waves and smiles, and Leonard tried not to let homesickness settle in his chest. 

He looked down the long line that spilled into the Mobile Sanitized Structure('structure' was apparently more scientific than 'tent'). Spock was at the mouth of the tent, scanning over vaccination candidates to make sure they were compatible. It was quick work, but Leonard still felt like someone a little more talkative should be posted there. And maybe being a little more human wouldn't hurt. That wasn't Leonard being harsh, it was just an observation. None of these colonists had ever witnessed a Vulcan in person and it sure as hell showed. They all stared up at him in awe as he waved the scanners over them and pointed them ahead. 

Any person who wasn't anxiously watching Leonard prepare a hypospray had their eyes firmly fixed on Spock. He'd had the same reaction his first time, he couldn't blame them. When Spock had walked down the line of crewmen behind Kirk, Leonard had his eyes firmly fixed to those ears. Even when he fell in behind him as Chief Medical Officer for the march of commanders, he couldn't look away. Spock was the only Vulcan serving Starfleet, the first but hopefully not final. A lot of Vulcans worked for the Federation, sure, they were a founding planet of the organization, but never did they work in Starfleet. 

"Hop up," Leonard interrupted the stares of his next patients. He patted the table to encourage the wary boy who was no more than eleven. Hopefully this would go smoothly, because an issue with one child meant the whole gaggle of siblings would be rough cases.

"Is that a real Vulcan?" The attending parent asked, tearing their attention between their son's squirming and the alien in question. 

"Yeah, I think he is." Leonard tried to answer with good humor as he quickly vaccinated the first child and moved to the next. 

"Has he ever...y'know..." Their voice dipped a little lower, hands cover the ears of their youngest. "Given you any trouble?" 

Leonard glanced up from where he was readying the next hypo. "No." He answered, voice dry of its past warmth. 

"I was in the 85th Fleet," They leaned in, as though trying to gain Leonard's trust so he'd tell the truth. "Battle of Sector Z-6 got me discharged. I know—" 

"Commander Spock is a fine officer and friend." Leonard's eyes cut up to them, holding the equally returned glare. Vaccinating the last child, he took the chance to turn away and play at rearranging his supplies. 

The family left without a word, not that Leonard was complaining. He was sick to death of war and talking about it. Who did they think they were, insinuating Spock was some kind of Romulan spy or sympathizer. Spock wasn't any kind of sympathizer. He wasn't even sympathetic. But he _was_ a damn good officer. A prime example of Starfleet material. They'd only worked together for a year and Leonard barely knew anything about the guy besides how witty, stuck-up and irritating he was, but he sure of his skills.

Despite his best efforts, Leonard couldn't work himself back into his good mood. At least, not until the first wave of colonists had finished and he stepped out of the MSS for a break. 

The warm breeze ran through his hair, kissing his cheeks like an old friend who missed him dearly. He had missed it too. When did he ever have the chance to step outside, look at the clouds rolling playfully in the sky and feel the sun on his skin? When did he ever smell rich and earthy with whiffs of sweetness from late blooming flowers? Georgia always smelled of something good. Barbecue, fresh cut grass, honeysuckle, ripe peaches, or the blooms of kudzu. The Enterprise smelled of cleaning supplies and the solar replacement light made his bones ache. 

They had set up shop a little ways from the town at the request from the governor. Only the area leading to and around the tent had been trimmed, leaving wild grass to dance around his ankles as he strayed from the tent. Rolling hills of shimmering olive with licks of gold peeking here and there, the pale buildings of the town crowning behind him. A small cluster of Italian Cypress-like trees drew him in. It was too bad there weren't climbing trees. It had been a few decades since he'd climbed a tree. Well, for fun anyways, he could recall a few times he'd scampered up one in the last years. 

Stepping into the thick bunching of trees, Leonard spotted science blue peeking from between shrubby leaves and gnarly trunks. He tried to silence his steps over cypress needles as he approached. Only a few times had he witnessed Spock mediate, and usually it was just before he stood up because Leonard had come to retrieve him for one thing or another.

Leonard could appreciate beautiful things, and he could appreciate Spock. Especially like this, when he wasn't cracking off some remark that Leonard could never hope to square up with. The usual apathetically stoic expression had somehow softened. He looked almost like he was sleeping, if it wasn't for just how ram-rod straight his spine was. The only real word he could fit to Spock was 'sculpted'. From his perfectly groomed hair to his boots that had a shine to shame diamonds, every detail just seemed too fine, too attentively crafted to nature made. The mint of his skin made him that less real. Leonard knew from the few times they had brushed against once another that it was just as smooth and just cold as marble. The dusting of light indigo over his eyelids made him seem that more pale and drew the eye to his swooping eyebrows. Even the curve of his annoying ears was of marvelous craftsmanship. But the carob of his eyes, that was Leonard's favorite part, the rich earthy brown that reminded him of the first cup of coffee after a long shift—

Leonard jumped a little when he realized those eyes were focused on him. 

"Doctor." Spock spoke, his voice devoid of any human emotion besides 'mildly displeased'.  

"Spock." Leonard answered back, suddenly deep interested in their forest shelter. "Nice place, huh? Real quiet." 

"Precisely." Spock narrowed his eyes minutely. 

Rubbing the back of his neck, Leonard tried to dig up some excuse so he could slip away. What he wouldn't give for Jim to show up and save him. He was always safely hiding on his ship whenever Leonard needed him. 

"Do you require me?" Spock asked, his level eyes never leaving Leonard. It felt like he had caught the attention of a jaguar. 

"Probably." Leonard gave a nod, settling the flighty feeling in his stomach. "The evening shift is comin' up, and if no one shows, we need to pack up the MSS and get it on the shuttle for tomorrow." 

 

Spock gave a nod before he stood, with a weird sense of difficulty, Leonard might add. But his following steps seemed fine, so Leonard decided it wasn't worth the argument to bring it up. Spock would fight him if he dared insinuate that he was sick or even capable of ailment. He didn't fumble or trip on their way up the hill. Must have just been a little disoriented from meditation, he concluded. 

The next wave of colonists went quickly, all easily wrangled and vaccinated, as entertained with Spock's presence as the first batch were. Leonard was sure to keep his eyes on the Vulcan as they packed up their equipment and fought the tent into submission. When everything had been safely tucked into the shuttle, the stars and five moons had made their appearance. 

Leonard sat in the door of the shuttle, chewing his awful Dry Pac dinner and wishing he could have taken up one of those kind offers to join a colonist family. Starfleet regulations prohibited it. Whatever. It didn't compare to having to spend the night on the floor of the shuttle in a sleeping bag, next to _Spock_. Hopefully he didn't wiggle half a mile in his dreams like Jim did. The captain had rolled himself out of enough biobeds for Leonard to fear ever having to bunk with him. Hopefully Spock was as stoic in sleep as he was awake. 

He turned his head to look up at the footsteps approaching him from behind. Spock had his arms folded behind his back, shoulders as rigid as ever. He had slipped off his uniform shirt in favor of an unmarked long sleeve issue. That just made him seem all the more intimidating. Sometimes Leonard just forgot what a towering guy Spock was, and there was no reminder like having to crane his neck to meet his eye. Damn greenblooded giant. 

"Doctor, I will be taking my place to mediate." Spock's voice was firm, clear he was not seeking the usual exchange of quips and comebacks. "Do not disturb me." 

"Alright." Leonard resisted the urge to tack a bitter 'sir' on. 

Spock turned on his heel, and Leonard listened his measured steps put distance between them. Maybe that was a seriously rude thing on Vulcan, to interrupt someone's meditation. It wasn't like Spock would tell if he asked. Vulcans kept every little thing under lock and key. It was a miracle that Spock was even willing to share his name. 

If that _was_ his real name. 

And it wasn't like Leonard had set out with the mission to bother him. It was an accident. Well...he guessed he could have turned round and left when he realized Spock was there, but still. The guy didn't have a reason to be so rude about it. 

The cool of  the night helped settle little irritated things that crawled around Leonard's stomach. He shouldn't be so worked up over this. They'd both forget it in a week. 

Stepping into the main room of the shuttle, Leonard saw that Spock had already folded all the seats into the wall and had laid out both their sleeping bags. It  was most likely to cut down on the racket he would make while rolling out his own than it was to be kind. Spock was facing the wall and Leonard had long ago been shed any hesitation to strip in front of others. Hopping MASH to MASH and stealing away in whatever barrack he could had rubbed that bit of civilization from his mind. 

Leonard pulled his shirt over his head, folding it carefully before kicking out of his jeans and placing them on top. He made sure the pile was neat and there would be no wrinkles tomorrow. The hair on the back of his neck stood up and he glanced over his shoulder, locking glares with Spock. 

Apparently that had been a little too much noise for him. Well, Leonard wasn't backing down. He held the Vulcan's gaze as he tucked himself into his sleeping bag and ordered the lights to lower. 

Though he could barely find the outline of Spock in the darkness, there was a bit of triumph when he heard the hushed noise of fabric shifting. Spock must have gave up and faced the wall. 

 

* * *

 

Leonard startled awake. 

Distant, ragged panting filled the darkness, sending electric shocks down every inch of his body as adrenaline shook him awake. Someone was outside the shuttle, having an allergic reaction to the vaccination; that's what instinct told him.

"Lights, 80%," Leonard ordered, wringing himself free from the sleeping bag. He had to get his medkit, he had to get the scanners and prepare a proper bed. Spock was stronger, he could carry the person in and run the scan while Leonard found his medkit. "Spock—" 

Spock wasn't on his sleeping bag. He wasn't anywhere. 

"Spock?" Leonard hesitated to move, stealing glances around the shuttle. The main door wasn't open, so Spock couldn't be outside. 

Wait a minute, how would he be hearing _anything_ from outside this shuttle?

The sound was coming from the back room. Every step closer confirmed it. Leonard pressed his ear to the door, listening to the breathing grow faster and more shallow. 

"Spock?" He gave a soft knock, a thought of if he should feel embarrassed or not crossed his mind. Not that he didn't think Vulcans had 'alone time', but was this really like most, uh, logical situation for it? 

The breathing hitched at the second knock, struggling to quiet itself. Then broke into sobs. 

"Spock," Leonard tried the button to open the door, hearing the motor of the door wind and wind, never catching the track. 

Aw, hell.

Leonard found himself running through the dew wet grass, the chill of the night making his fear feel deeper. The bay door on the back of the shuttle refused his commands. The motor only clicked, clicked, clicked, unable to lower. Fuck, there was no way he was getting to Spock. Unless...

Rushing back into the shuttle, Leonard dug out his communicator. He flipped it open and gave it a shake when the signal struggled to establish. This was no time for the errs of machines. The familiar chirps finally came through, stilling his angry shaking. 

"This's Doctor McCoy, I need an emergency beam up of me and Spock." He rushed out, pressing himself against the wall dividing himself from Spock. "He doesn't have a locator on, he's probably less than a foot from me. Have M'Benga ready." 

"Aye, sir, prepare for immediate beam up." The familiar accent came through, seconds before they re-materialized on the transporter pad.

The urgency of the situation must have been established from the scene. Leonard in his boxers, leaning over Spock who curled in a tighter ball every time the doctor tried to pry his hands from nearly crushing his own skull. Leonard leaned over him, hands hovering, hesitating. The door hissed open. Leonard looked up to bark at M'Benga, panting and just as undressed.

"We need to get him to sickbay, no one can see him but us." M'Benga managed out, pulling the grav-bed in behind him.  

_"What?_ " Leonard barked as the doctor dropped beside him. "What do you mean 'no one can see him', he needs–"

"Just trust me,"  M'Benga tore open his medkit and dug for a proper sedative. "We need to get him to sickbay as quickly as possible and put him in the isolation room." He plunged the hypo into Spock's neck, the Vulcan's tremors stilling. "Now help me get him on the bed." 

Leonard clenched his jaw but didn't argue. He hooked his arms under Spock's knees and found  his own buckling. He had grossly misjudged the lanky hobgoblin's true weight. The gravity of Vulcan did wonders for the density of a body. M'Benga, however, lifted Spock with an annoying amount of ease. While Leonard was eating dust on Outpost Planet B-9107, M'Benga was getting buff on Vulcan. 

Covering Spock with the blanket Leonard recognized as from the Vulcan's own bed, M'Benga began pushing him down the hall to sickbay. Leonard trailed after him, the swiftness of his pace struggling to keep up with M'Benga's long strides. It wasn't hard to recognize the halls were empty. No crewmen stepped in or out of doors, no one passed them. Not even when they slipped into the turbolift did they come across another person waiting for them. Leonard began wondering just how prepared M'Benga was to handle cases like this. 

The doors of sickbay hissed open and they stepped into the chill of silence. Leonard paused, taking in the almost eerie scene of an empty triage and vacant nurses' desk. It felt like he was the sole survivor of something awful. It felt familiar. 

Spock was being secured in the isolation room by the time Leonard caught up. When he sought someway to assist M'Benga, he found himself being hurried backward out of the room. The heavy door slid shut, a puff of air escaping as the pneumatic locks secured. 

"Leonard, look at me," M'Benga closed the privacy hatch over the sliver of an observation window before spinning to face him. "You _cannot_ go in here. Under absolutely no circumstances should you even _think_ about going in here." His tone was firm, and Leonard couldn't help but feel like a scolded pre-med student. At at the soft nod, the tense line of M'Benga's shoulders eased, falling into more gentle curves. His face stayed stiff, eyes studying Leonard's face, seeking out any signs that he would disregard these instructions. "I know you want to help him. This is how you can help him." 

A silence passed between them, a silence that was far too still. 

Dipping his chin in a curt nod, the corner of Leonard's lip twitched up to seem more at ease. "You're the doctor." He said. 

M'Benga mirrored his smile, taking his shoulder to lead him away from the door. Every step just made that ache in Leonard's stomach deepen. 

Everything had happened so fast. Too fast. The adrenaline from the shuttle was still rushing through his veins, the cold night air still lingered on his skin.

It felt wrong, it _was_ wrong to just walk away from his patient like that. Was this how Vulcans handled sickness? Is this what M'Benga had learned on that forsaken planet? If someone needs help, just shut them up and lock them away?

To hell with Vulcan dignity. To hell with Vulcan pride. To hell with Vulcans. 

 

* * *

 

"I think I'm going to turn in for the night, Doctor." M'Benga stood up as his PADD buzzed.

Leonard gave a soft hum, his attention never wavering from the screen in front of him. He looked as engrossed in his work as one could ever be. The vaccination mission wasn't cancelled on Spock's behalf, Leonard would be beaming down with a different assistant as soon as the sun rose. M'Benga had followed him into his office, saying he'd enjoy some company as he waited. Waited for what, Leonard didn't ask. It didn't matter. All he knew was M'Benga had kept his PADD in his hands and his eyes on his 'fellow' doctor. Meanwhile, Leonard had been typing up a storm of a report. 

"Oh," He lifted his eyes from the screen, giving a polite smile. "Night, Geoffrey." He said before the smile slipped off his face and he was back to typing the details of the day's events. Leonard watched as M'Benga wavered in the doorway, then finally answered his PADD and left. The sickbay door opened and then shut. 

Leonard counted down through five minutes. And then five more. And then five more. M'Benga hadn't returned, trying to catch Leonard in the act. Still, he was a much wiser man than trust fifteen minutes of silence. It could risk his entire career, sneaking into that room, he didn't need M'Benga catching him in the middle and stopping him from helping Spock. 

"Computer, locate Doctor M'Benga." 

"Doctor M'Benga is in his quarters." The computer responded, easing Leonard's stomach only slightly. As he rose to his feet, doubts crept into his mind. He didn't know anything about Vulcan physiology, or biology, or anatomy. He didn't know what would make Spock sicker or better, or even kill him. Was there really a point in risking his career, risking this posting he had been working so for, when he might not be any use at all?

_Where was the humanity in letting Spock suffer?_ , Leonard decided. What kind of doctor was he to put his career before a living creature? His career was devoted to serving the Hippocratic Oath to its fullest.

The emptiness of the sickbay watched him as he left his office and followed him down the curved hallway of the private rooms. Leonard held his breath as he walked along the stretch of uninterrupted wall. Part of him expected some sort of noise to greet him despite knowing the room was soundproof. 

He hesitated at the door, finger resting heavily on the button. The doubts wrestled with his sense of duty. Worries about what he could possibly be useful for clashed with his need to care for the sick. Dread dueled with determination. Pressing the button, Leonard stepped in and shut the door in one swift motion. There was no backing out, now. 

No motion came from the bed. The beat of his heart kept time as moments passed. A cold weight rested in his chest as he moved forward, the scuff of his boots disturbing the absolute silence. He reached his hand out, resting it on the plain of Spock's chest. Still, nothing moved beneath the blanket. The rise and fall of breathing was so swallow he barely recognized it.

Growing bold, Leonard folded the top of the blanket down, exposing the Vulcan's face. Only the flush of forest green let him know that Spock wouldn't be getting a red shirt's welcome home. 

He tried to take Spock's heart rate couldn't keep count, and the burn of his skin kept him from trying again. His lips were chapped from dehydration. A textbook fever, a fever that had either been running a long time or swept in lethally fast. Leonard huffed as that knot of helplessness tightened in his chest. There was nothing he knew to do. No medicine to help bring the fever down, no way of knowing how much time Spock had left before damage occurred. Only M'Beng knew how to doctor a Vulcan, and his solution was shoving him in the backroom to be forgotten. 

Maybe he had some kind of virus rather than an infection. Something contagious, that's why he was tucked away. But M'Benga was a careful man, and he hadn't been wearing any type of preventative gear. This just failed to reason itself out. 

Turning away from the bed, Leonard went to one of the purposefully mismatched tiles on the wall. He pressed his palm to it, feeling the spring press back before he let it open itself. If there was no clear way to treat Spock, Leonard would just do his best to make him comfortable. Get an IV going so he'd be hydrated, maybe shift through M'Benga's medkit later to try finding something useful. 

Leonard uncovered Spock's arm, resting it over the thick duvet and tying the strip of rubber around it. He uncapped the needle, wishing there had been invented a better way to give intravenous fluids. Hyposprays were mostly painless, and he supposed everyone had been a bit spoiled by them. Even the most macho soldier would squirm away from a needle—

A burning hand snapped around Leonard's wrist. 

Apparently Spock was no exception to this observation. 

"Spock." Leonard greeted stiffly. His eyes locked on the Vulcan's rather than the crushing grip he was trapped in. They were glassy and unfocused, a haze blocking their usual intensity, their usual light of intelligence. 

"Doctor," Spock responded, just as stiff, drawing in a deep breath. "What are you planning to do?" 

"I'm going to give you an IV," Leonard forced his own voice to be level. He could feel his own pulse in his fingertips and he swore there would be burn marks on his skin. "For fluids." His explanation didn't satisfy Spock, whose absent stare failed to waver. "You're dehydrated from the fever." 

Spock hesitated, then sat up. "The fever." He echoed. His eyes darted back and forth over Leonard's face. "It will not help the fever." His voice fell feeble, his grip on Leonard's wrist growing slack. 

"What will?" Leonard asked, forcing himself to not draw his arm back. Spock seemed coherent enough to instruct him, and M'Benga had to be carrying some over-the-counter supplies. There had to be some kind of fever relief medication in his desk. The only reason M'Benga was even offered to be trained in Vulcan medicine was to be Spock's personal doctor. Once more, the question crept up, 'why did M'Benga push him in isolation room if he had a way to help?'

But Spock didn't answer. He only watched the doctor with those eyes that were ever so dark and ever so unreadable. 

Spock's hand began drifting up Leonard's arm, over his elbow, towards his shoulder. Leonard watched the hand carefully, trying to determine its intent. The touches were light. Almost...seeking. Hot fingers brushed up the line of his neck and came rest on his cheek. 

"You will." Spock breathed out, his fingers starting to trace nonsense patterns over Leonard's cheek. 

"Of course I will," Leonard tried to assure him, the corner of his lip turning up. "You just have to tell me how." 

"We must..." His voice died away, eyes falling to the side. "No. You will not accept that."

"What is it?" Leonard felt his patience for these Vulcan games slipping. "Tell me what I need to do and I'll do it."

Spock shook his head and Leonard felt tempted to knock his hand away. No, there was no need to start a fight. He'd just have to wait it out. And wait it out, he did. Leonard stood with Spock's fingers burning against his skin until he couldn't feel his aching feet. The trembled had slowly sank back into the Vulcan's muscles. 

"It is the only thing that will quell the fever." Spock spoke suddenly, voice shaking and low. "It is a flaw in my kind. A flaw in our...devotion to logic, the ultimate test of self-control. The fever, it takes over us. Drives us mad. Kills us. Only one thing...one act will stop it."

"What is it? What will help it?" Leonard lift his hand to rest over Spock's wrist. "Spock. Please. Let me help."

The Vulcan lifted his gaze from the floor, his eyes resting on Leonard without irritation or a glare tinting them. It was uncomfortable, but Leonard couldn't help but feel like this was how they really were.

"We must mate." Spock thrust out the words like they were a confession of crime. 

Leonard waited. Waited for what, he wasn't sure. Just anything, anything that made this out to be a joke. The worst pick-up act Leonard had ever been subjected to, anything. 

It wasn't a joke. Spock was beginning to slouch, growing weaker with every minute Leonard let tick by.  

Have sex with Spock. 

Have sex with Spock to keep him from potentially dying.

He had been through wars. He had hooked transfusion lines to himself and gave blood directly to wounded. He gave up rations, he gave up warm beds, and platelets and plasma.  Could his be any different? It was to save a life.  If Spock died on a human ship, he could only imagine the hell that would break loose. 

Leonard was doing this to save a life. He was doing this to prevent a war. 

"Alright," Leonard nodded. "I'll do it." 

 


	2. 'Til Death Do Us Part

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** Discussions of consent issues.

The world just wouldn't stop spinning.

Leonard pressed a palm to his temple, trying to force to sensation out. Ever since they had wheeled Spock's bed out of the room, he felt like he'd just been hit by a truck. It hurt to move his limbs, it hurt to open his eyes to the hospital light, everything just _hurt _.__ The ache had burrowed past his bones and into his soul.

His body wasn't as recovered as they wanted it to be. Machines could force recuperation all they wanted, but it just didn't leave the same healing as time did.

The PADD next to his leg buzzed. Jim said he'd send a message when he was outside the hospital. Leonard should start putting effort into getting ready. Though, it was tempting to just sit there, half naked and ungroomed. Maybe he'd go in front of the Council like this.

How in the hell could all this be happening?

He barely remembered waking up, and now he had to get dressed to stand some kind of trial. He had been told that two weeks(and three days and seventeen point five hours) had elapsed since his last memory. The memory of agreeing to—agreeing to save Spock's life. And his body felt all of it, showed all of it. The mind might have forgotten, but the body had taken notes.

His piano cord tendons and birdcage bones pressed against his skin fit for Mardi Gras. Hand-print bruises had shifted their color with age like autumn leaves; some were bilirubin yellow, others a dark hemosiderin blue. The tube down his nose kept him fed, and the IV had staved off dehydration. Staved off death, was more like it.

If he had really survived for fourteen days without food, or water, or rest...

There was no way in hell he had really survived fourteen days of that! It just wasn't possible!

His memory was void of four hundred twenty-five hours of his life. There wasn't even the suggestion that time had passed between Spock falling ill and Leonard waking up. The time was just...gone. Missing.

Maybe he should be a little more shook up about it, but where would he find the energy?

A faint buzz caught his attention. The buzz Vulcans had to alert that someone was at the door rather than the pleasant chimes or chirps of Earth.

"Come in," He called, voice harsh and straining to be heard.

The door whispered open, leaving Jim distracted for a moment as he admired it. Leonard took the chance, stuffing his numb arm into his dress shirt sleeve and hiding the last of his visible damage.Well, the conversation pieces of visible damage.

He offered a smile as Jim stepped in, looking back to watch the door that shut with only a soft breath. It was a nice change from the sharp hiss from the Enterprise.

"So that's the technology they keep for themselves." Jim remarked, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. Leonard only responded with a faulty chuckle. It was red flag when Jim started with small talk.

The captain was too loose. His arms swung idly at his sides, his gait was open and rolling like a swagger. He seemed calm, seemed relaxed. That didn't fool Leonard, never had. Jim wasn't at ease. He was exhausted. He was a snapped tightrope left dancing in the wind.

"How deep's Shit Creek?" Leonard asked, leaning forward, hands gripping the edge of the bed.

"No one's talking, but it's..." Jim sighed as he sat heavily next to him. "It's bad, Bones. There's news of the Federation President being there."

Leonard wiped a calloused hand down his face, ignoring the slight shake of his fingers. The President wasn't called in for meet-and-greets, certainly not to cover the ass of some Doctor Nobody. She would be trying to cover the ass of Starfleet, maybe even the entire Federation.

"M'Benga's on trial, too." Jim continued, the tiredness of his voice deepening. "I think I might be under an investigation. No one's making any solid statements. Apparently the Council wants this locked up tight."

With a heavy sigh, Leonard hung his head. The world tilted and swayed under him. His bed was rocking like a dingy stranded in a hurricane. How the hell were they going to get through this one? Jim had pulled them from many a fire, but...maybe not this time. Maybe their luck finally ran out.

Finishing the clasps of his shirt, Leonard gave Jim's knee a playful slap. He wanted to say something funny, something witty to lighten the doom in their chests. Nothing came to mind.

The air remained unbroken as Jim helped Leonard into his transport chair and stepped aside for the nurse to situate his supplies. Leonard kept his eyes distracted, looking anywhere but at his captain's pained face. What a mess he had to be, starved and beaten and hooked to a zoo of medical contraptions.

It felt strange to be on this side of a disaster.

He was usually the one looking down at the idiot of the week.

As they wheeled him out, he talked to himself in his mind about the architecture of the hospital, how tall and solemn the people were, how red the sands of the planet. How thankful he was a life support belt that protected him from the crushing gravity and heat.

The spinning eased when he was moved into the shuttle. It made sense to find Spock sitting in the seat facing his own. His head was bowed, forehead resting on steepled fingers.

After the nurse secured him in the shuttle, Jim gave quick goodbye so he could catch his own ride. Spock didn't react to the commotion around him or the captain's temporary farewell.

Leonard's eyes rested on the statue-still Vulcan as the shuttle sealed itself shut. The sunlight coming through the window danced over Spock's glossy hair and silk robe, wrapping him scarlet.

Leonard felt as though he were looking at a stranger.

Spock and blue were inseparable. His uniform was blue, his eye shadow was blue, the shine of his hair was blue. There was something distinctly wrong about seeing him in the opposite color.

"How are you feeling?" Leonard asked. Spock didn't answer, didn't even move; not that Leonard had really expected him to. "I'm not feeling too bad myself." He replied to the silence, turning his eyes to the window as the shuttle began to move. If it wasn't for whatever they gave him for pain, he knew his stomach would be somewhere under his feet.

The crimson sands rolled and lapped like the ocean, yet were smoother than satin bed sheets. Hacksaw teeth of distant mountains bit into the burnt sky, chasing the suns that were as bright and as sickeningly red as emergency alert lights. How could there ever be so much red in a world? How could one color rule so completely?

The mountains grew closer, biting deeper into the sky. They were the only thing proving the shuttle was going somewhere and not just drifting in a sea of red. Harsh shrubs and gnarled attempts of trees grew in the shade of the mountains, their pale bodies littering the sand like bones. The crests and summits rose from Leonard's view. Those dancing bands of red drew closer and closer until he was suddenly swallowed by darkness.

Lights lining the roof of the shuttle lit up, bathing the cramped space in pessimistic grey. He was aware of the walls, aware of the narrow distance between his head and the ceiling. Aware of the humming engines and the slightest inflection in their noise. It had been so much bigger in here earlier, hadn't it? Were the walls closing in? His stomach sloshed with every minute rock of the cabin.

Spock folded over, pressing his forehead to his knees. A pained breath slipped from his lips.

"Spock," Leonard called out, his senses momentarily dulled. A sick person was all he needed to forget the idea that the straps engulfing him and growing in number. "Spock, you okay? What's wrong?"

The Vulcan's hands slipped up to cover his ears, fingers digging into his skull. Leonard accepted it with a huff.

Probably just some expected discomfort, either from the ride or their little 'experience'. Honestly, he seemed in great shape other than this. At the hospital, Spock hadn't needed much help. He could eat solid foods without aid and even walk on his own to the shuttle, apparently. It was like Spock hadn't even been phased by the past two weeks. He just seemed a little tired, a little distracted. As though he had come down with the flu rather than a life threatening illness that Leonard wasn't allowed the details on.

Meanwhile, Leonard wasn't allowed the dignity of putting his own pants on.

Red sunlight stripped across the window, breaking the dreary grey inside the cabin. The shuttle was slowing, dread crawling up Leonard's chest in tandem pace. He forced away the panicking thoughts, assuming a sense of composure when shuttle stilled and the human nurse came to retrieve him.

There wasn't time for him to ask questions. There was barely time to think as he was hurried from the shuttle and through a stark white parking garage maze. The walls eventually gave way to a courtyard filled with forests of sandstone spires. They were tall and brittle, scarred by the centuries and centuries they'd witnessed. Over them in the distance rose a twisted tower of black onyx, a pillar of Atlas, guarded by massive statues wielding ancient weapons of war.

The swirling designs etched into the stone path under his wheels drew his eye. At first, their familiarity eluded him, until it was clear where he had witnessed them before. It was the Vulcan written language. Leonard had saw it on the spines of Spock's carbon books and on the screen of his PADD.

The yawning archway of the tower swallowed them, a marble wall dividing to allow them into the main room. It was bare and uncomfortably spacious, the ceiling rising far above them. Leonard's reflection greeted him from the floor. Spock's followed not far behind.

Voices speaking Standard reached his ears. The final turn revealed the small gathering of humans waiting outside grand doors that stretched from floor to ceiling. Silence fell over the group. All heads turned to watch them approach. Dread overflowed his chest, slipping into his stomach in nauseous splashes.

"Doctor McCoy, Commander Spock." An unmistakable voice greeted them. President Taqukaq Desna of the United Federation of Planets.

There was something intimidating about her, something that holovision broadcasts failed to translate. Even though she and Leonard were at the same eye level, he felt he was sitting in her shadow.

"President Desna," They replied in unison, offering her a salute.

"It is an honor to be in your presence." Spock continued. Desna offered a soft word in return before her eyes fell back on Leonard. Jim shifted by her side, words teasing at his lips.

"I understand you were posted at the Siege of Bootes," Desna spoke, deceptively anodyne. Leonard straightened in his seat despite the objections of his muscles. Jim stepped forward, opening his mouth to speak and draw the attention away from his CMO—

"I was," Leonard answered just as smoothly.

Desna pushed her wheelchair closer to him before folding her hands in her lap. "Those Romulans are very brutal, aren't they?" She asked, dark eyes scrutinizing every inch of his face. "Very savage. They enjoy torture, it's fun sport for them. I'm sure you've had to stitch together the remainders of many fellow servicemen to ship home. It gets under your skin, doesn't it? Brings a bad taste when you see pointed ears."

"What the hell are you trynna say?" He snarled, feeble fists balling.

"You know exactly what I'm saying," She snarled back, leaning forward. "I know what crimes you Drafts commit to get your 'revenge' on the system. You've put the entire Federation at risk—"

A heavy, rolling 'thunk' echoed from hulking doors. Ever so slowly, they creaked apart. Desna stole one last baleful glance before pushing herself to the front of the group.

Leonard's stomach twisted itself in wrenching knots. What had Desna been told happened? What had the Council been told? Did she truly believe he had...forced himself on Spock? Had he? Was it considered consensual or criminal?

He looked up to Spock, but the Vulcan's face was as still as ever.

The walls of the court room were like the teeth of angler fish, tusk-shaped stones jutting out and overlapping. Perhaps, if he was charged with a crime, they'd just ram him into the walls and be done with it. They approached the 'bench' of the council—a swooping ledge of solid stone— and seven pairs of eyes stared down at them. M'Benga was already waiting, his shoulders struggling to stand firm.

"Leonard McCoy, Son of Eleanor," One of them spoke. Leonard couldn't make out their faces from his distance. "You are not being tried for a crime. However, you are being investigated."

"'Investigated'?" Desna prompted, and in unison, the Coucil turned their statuesque faces to her. "For what, exactly? If I may ask."

"The Council has decided that the investigations will be limited to only those directly accountable." A different member answered. "You will be permitted certain information after our rulings."

Glances passed between the humans as they wordlessly agreed it was best to not challenge the Council. Hesitant footsteps faded from the room, and they were sealed inside by the damning shut of ancient stone doors.

"Jabilo Geoffrey M'Benga," He was addressed by a different voice. "You have failed to uphold the vows of preserving the personal privacy of your patient and those of securing Vulcan dignity."

"I have," M'Benga answered, his hands hidden behind his back and gripping each other desperately. "I have broken the trust of the Vulcan people, the trust of Spock, and I have no explanation or excuse beyond my flawed reasoning."

"Explain your 'flawed reasoning'." The first Vulcan spoke.

M'Benga's breath stilled, and he turned his head to catch a glimpse of Leonard. "I trusted Doctor McCoy to respect my choices for my patient and decisions as a medical professional." His eyes lingered, then turned back to the Council. "I assumed, and I assumed wrong."

The Council fell silent. Lead filled Leonard's stomach, welling up against his lungs with every pound of his heart.

"The Council has ruled this indiscretion is unforgivable. You are prohibited from being assigned as a personal physician to a Vulcan for the length of your career."

Leonard snapped up in his chair, something in his back cracking loudly. "Now you just hold on a damn minute!" He barked, an unsteady finger accusing them. "Geoffrey M'Benga is the finest doctor I know—"

"Your statement is an emotional opinion and will not be held in this court." Interrupted the first voice. "The ruling for Doctor M'Benga is completed."

"It's not his fault, it's mine!" Leonard challenged, his voice buckling.

"The ruling is completed." The council chair restated with a condescending layer of patience.

Digging his grown nails into his palm, Leonard's breaths struggled past the anger boiling in his chest.

What had he done?

What had he done to his friends?

"Leonard Horatio McCoy," The voice suddenly turned on him. "Explain your decision to disobey Doctor M'Benga's orders and violate the integrity of Commander Spock."

Violate. The words dried on Leonard's tongue, falling from his silent lips. "I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought..." He swallowed hard, the lump in his throat refusing to clear. "I thought I was doing my duty as a doctor, helping. And when Spock told me his life was in danger, and he told me how to help him, there was no way I could say 'no'. Because..." All the eyes in the room were weighing down on him. "Because I knew he was in danger and I knew how to help. I couldn't just ignore him. I had to help."

Stone-still faces watched him, and Leonard felt something jam between his lungs.

"S'chn T'gai Spock, son of Sarek," Another voice spoke. "Would you define Doctor McCoy's actions as 'criminal'?"

Leonard's eyes darted to the sliver of Spock's face that he could see. He was terrified, fear was tearing his stomach to shreds, but if he was guilty, he'd serve his sentence. Whatever that sentence may be. The vows of, 'first, do no harm', were sacred to him. If he had hurt Spock, if he had committed a crime, if he had broken these vows, he deserved it.

"I would not." Spock said, breaking the stretch of silence. "I was lucid. As Doctor McCoy has stated, lucid enough to explain the illness and what it required."

"Leonard McCoy, you preserved a life." The voice decided. "It was through an emotional impulse, but a life was preserved."

"You sustained Spock through his Pon Farr," A different voice spoke. "And you will follow the traditional path of mates joined through this way."

"You will both live for an uninterrupted year on Vulcan," The voice continued. "Dwell in the same residence, and present yourselves as bonded mates."

In thundering unison, they spoke: "To fail is to be exiled."


	3. In Sickness,

He swore he was still in that courtroom, gazing up at faceless judges as their ruling burrowed under his ribs. 

Even though Leonard was sitting in his hospital bed, tapping away at his PADD, the weight of their eyes lingered.

The trial was yesterday. That's what Leonard had to keep telling himself. It was yesterday. 

Maybe if he had a memories between there and here, it wouldn't feel like only moments ago. His nurse, Del, had sedated him for 'his own safety' before the shuttle ride. Leonard didn't doubt it. He could fill a grave with all the things he had to be saved from. 

His own pounding heart or Desna and her peacekeepers that undoubtedly wanted blood; not to mention the media. Oh, the media. What they wouldn't do for a scoop. This was probably the story of the century, right next to the Yakki Barr Scandal. Leonard wouldn't be surprised if Jocelyn and Joanna had go into hiding. And what about Spock's family? That is, if he had any. He never mentioned family in the entire year Leonard knew him. 

Thankfully for them, they had sanctuary here. As long as they were in a place of healing, the Vulcan Council would not permit interrogation or media harassment. This was a place of recovery and renewal. Yet, Leonard found was no comfort in knowing they were waiting for him, just outside the hospital walls. Once they were discharged, they were free game. 

The soft buzz of the door drew Leonard's eyes away from his PADD. He sat himself up when Nurse Del pushed in the lunch cart, abandoning his half-typed message to Jim. One of those silent Vulcan nurses slipped in behind her, going to her computer station. 

"Nurse Del," He greeted warmly, gravel still in his voice. "You bring me somethin'?" 

"Only what the doctor ordered." She mirrored his smile. It was nice to see. A Doctor T'Whatever came in earlier that morning to judge if he was ready to ween from his nasogastric tube. Her blank stare and clipped words sat heavily on his stomach.

Leonard glanced over to Spock as Del prepared the table. He was still slumped over in meditation, as he had been since Leonard woke. His shoulders were bowed forward in an elegant shape, revealing the lines of muscle and bone. Leonard's eyes were drawn to the shadows cast by shoulder blades, how cleanly they pressed against the cloth of his hospital clothes. 

He hadn't acknowledged Leonard's, or anyone's presence that day. The doctor had to abandon her evaluation due to the depth of his catatonia. It was just the healing process, Leonard had been assured. It was natural, it was his body caring for itself. Spock would come back around when he was ready. 

"I've got it," Leonard flashed another smile before Del could mother him much more. He waved her hands away from his tray, lifting the lid on his own. "I'm sure Spock's a lot hungrier than I am." 

Del gave a slight pause, her eyes flicking up to the unchanged figure. "Maybe." She agreed with a polite nod. If Spock was in a healing trance, he'd come out of it to eat, surely. 

The first thing ton the tray to catch his attention were the dainty, translucent gloves. Next, was the bowl of tomato paste for an entree, and a cup of green-tinted water beside it. With no spoon in sight. 

Glancing up, he meant to call Del's attention. Instead, Leonard was caught in the way Spock sobered from mediation. It was like watching someone come to terms with certain death. A coolness curled in Leonard's chest, and he lost what little of an appetite he pretended to have. 

Still, he had to make himself eat something. The sooner he reintroduced normal eating habits to his body, the sooner he could have this tube out of his nose. 

"Uh, Nurse?" Leonard spoke up once she turned back to her cart. "Spoon?" 

Del stilled, then lit up. "Oh!" She snapped her fingers, an embarrassed little smile crossing her lips. "That's right, this kitchen doesn't give out spoons. I'll go get you one, Doctor, just a moment." 

Leonard watched her leave, then stared down at his tray. What kind of place serves soup with no spoon? Was he supposed to bring his own? 

While he waited, he might as well explore the only other option. The smell was sharp and earthy, marked with a hint of fruit-like sweetness. When Leonard gave the cup a swirl, he discovered the liquid was slightly more gelatinous than he thought. Not exactly a goo, but...mucilaginous. Some kind of―

"It is cactus juice." 

Leonard's head snapped over to Spock. He was carefully dressing his hands in the gloves; smoothing out the creases and adjusting the way the band wrapped his wrist. He was so enthralled with the task, Leonard doubted he spoke. It had to have been the nurse.

"Cactus juice?" He prompted warily, glancing between the computer station and Spock. 

"Indeed," Spock answered, not at all distracted. Leonard noted the cadence of his tone, or rather, the lack of it. Spock usually spoke in a level tone, but this was markedly free of any inflection. "This particular cactus is of a high caloric content and is commonly utilized in assisting recoveries such as ours." 

"Huh," Leonard watched, dumbstruck, as Spock lifted the bowl to his lips and sipped at the soup. Hoity-toity folks like Vulcans, sipping from the bowls? Well, Leonard really shouldn't be surprised. How many elegant and perfectly civilized cultures skipped on cutlery? Too many to think of. 

Glancing down at his own bowl, Leonard wondered if he dared. The last thing he wanted was to spill soup on himself, just to have Del strip him down. She might start to think something was up. Of course, he didn't want cold soup either, or even worse, lukewarm.

Cupping his hands around the warm bowl, he brought it to his face. The warmth washed over his skin, its heady aroma making him reconsider his lack of appetite. With brave sip, Leonard hummed aloud. It was better than tomato soup, rich and herb-y, touched with a perfect sweetness. Stewed carrots came to mind. 

"Not bad," Leonard commented, resting the bowl on the tray. His fingers shivered and twitched around its ceramic shape. "What's it called?"

"Plomeek soup." Spock answered. He had yet to even glance Leonard's way, but the doctor wouldn't hold it against him. At least he was talking. That's all that mattered. It was getting lonely in this hospital room, only long delayed messages from Jim to keep him company. 

"It's nice," Leonard nodded, sipping from the bowl once more. "Real nice." Something crept from the back of his mind and settled on his shoulders. It's weight sank into his muscles, gnawing until his head too heavy to hold. "Real real nice." He carried on, shifting his upper body to shake it away and reaching for his cup. 

The smooth, gliding texture of the sweet juice became his singular focus. He swished it back and forth in his mouth, letting the harsh sound numb his mind. 

He should finish that message to Jim.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Filler? In my fanfic? It's more likely that you think.  
> Though, I promise guys, this isn't absolutely pointless. I wanted to break up this huge wall of text that is this chapter chronicling a week in the hospital.   
> Stay tuned and see my tumblr (cjtheshort.tumblr.com) for updates.


	4. And in Health

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Y'all like paragraph breaks?

  
"You talk to Jim yet?" Leonard broke the reign of silence. He stole a glimpsed of Spock, then swallowed the irritation that rose in his throat when the man still ignored him. They hadn't shared any further words since the 'soup talk' yesterday. Instead, Spock picked up his PADD after lunch and Leonard hadn't seen him so much as look away from it since.

The pale glow of the screen had kept Leonard awake well into the night. All his bellyaching and begging had been useless.

"He told me he sent you a message," He continued, voice muffled as he smoothed hair removal gel across his upper lip. "Didn't tell me what it said, just that he wanted you to see it."

Leonard looked over to Spock again, seeking any sign of acknowledgment. Spock kept his focus on the screen, eyes following the spiral vines of Vulcan letters. His gaze so intent, Leonard wondered if he was struggling to read.

"You better answer him soon, they're leaving orbit tomorrow." The words didn't leave his lips, the instead sank down into his stomach.

The Enterprise, leaving without them. It wasn't right. They belonged on that ship like bones in a body. How the hell was the crew supposed to survive without Doctor McCoy? How was Jim? Scotty was probably falling apart as First Officer.

Leonard couldn't reassure himself that it was 'only for a year'. Starfleet could still boot them. And even if they didn't, there was only prayer to be had that they would return to the Enterprise.

This could be the final goodbye between Leonard and Jim. Anything could happen in a year. That much was fact.

With a shaking breath, Leonard turned back his little mirror. There was no peace in him, not even in his reflection. Gaunt cheekbones and sunken eyes stared back at him, ruthless and unwavering. Every line in his face felt like a canyon, time carving its way through what little youth he had left. The darkness under his eyes was vivid, paling the skin around it to a sickly color.

Leonard decided to focus on not missing any stray hairs.

 

* * *

 

  
Leonard fought the urge to start another conversation about soup. There wasn't anything else to say. Well, except for, 'Hey, how about this married thing we are now? That's pretty neat, huh? And we have to get along or we'll be exiled? Y'all Vulcans sure know how to make a body feel welcome'.

It was the only thing whirling around in his mind other than how the Enterprise was faring. Jim wouldn't answer his questions about it. Any time Leonard asked about M'Benga, the topic switched. Jim wanted to know how Spock was doing, if they had heard anything else from the Council, how their year together would going to work.

There wasn't an answer for the last one.

Leonard didn't know how they were going to work. Spock had been a constant in his life the year prior, and he hadn't learned a single damn thing about him. If asked, he could say Spock was annoying, stubborn, argumentative and unnerving. But, he also knowledgeable, resourceful, and loyal to his captain.

And he had a stick up his ass.

Other than that, he was empty. Leonard didn't know his name beyond 'Spock' until the Council meeting, he couldn't tell you about his siblings or parents, or where he grew up. Hell, he couldn't even say what Spock's favorite color was. And he wasn't clueless from a lack of trying.

The only conversations Spock had were conversation of necessity, usually focused around work. Any attempts to be friendly were immediately shot down, so Leonard had abandoned them. Their only communication was exchanging information and arguing. Usually, exchanging information that lead to arguing.

It was time to try 'friendly' again. Leonard had already destroyed M'Benga's life's work, he wouldn't do it to Spock. At least one person had to be spared in this disaster.

 

* * *

  
  
Del hovered over Leonard for a moment longer, her fingertips brushing against the back of his neck. He shifted his weight before offering her a smile. Atrophy and trauma recovery wasn't fun. Pads and patches slapped on every inch of his limbs. Tickling and itching danced under them, just out of his reach to scratch. All he could do was squeeze his armrests and ignore it. Leonard McCoy wasn't a problem patient.

"'M comfortable, Del," He assured, her informal name tasting strange on his tongue. His was too used to titles in his field. Everyone was proud of being a doctor or a nurse, proud of all their hard work and commitment; they'd be damned if you didn't recognize it.

"Thank ya. The desert looks mighty fine from up 'ere." Leonard let his drawl rub off thick.

Del's lip curved up at that and she left with a pat on his shoulder.

Leonard looked over his shoulder, to where the Vulcan doctor, T'Lyra, spoke lowly with Spock. His chin tucked against his chest, eyes down down, and hands clasped behind his back. Leonard couldn't help but see him as a scolded child. The woman was a head taller than him, her face wizened to a sense of regal authority. He was likely cowering out of respect.

She stopped speaking, and Spock nodded at her words, a mutter leaving his lips. Then she turned and left as swiftly as she had come. Abrupt people, Leonard was learning.

The same Vulcan woman from the past day slipped through door before it could shut. Her hair wasn't like the doctor's or the Vulcan women outside. It wasn't piled high in an astounding structure of twirls and braids. Hers was short, uniform, like Spock's.

She went directly to the computer station, her fingers finding the keyboard and flying over them with a pace to shame Warp 10.

Leonard didn't know why needed someone at the computer station for most of the day. Surely, there weren't that many reports to file and updates to document on the two of them. Maybe she was teamed with Starfleet, sending Desna progress reports so she could plan his execution.

The pale blue of Spock's hospital clothes caught his eye. To his amazement, he was coming over rather than diving back for his bed. Leonard sat himself up and straightened his shoulders, hoping to seem more attentive, more inviting.

"This is the Shi'Kar Desert, the city is named for it." Spock spoke before Leonard could greet him. "The city serves as the capitol for the Confederacy of Vulcan. It draws many tourists with its display of ancient structures and customs in the Old Quarter. Others are drawn to the Artisan Quarter, where finery and crafts are created, often from the ways of the ancients."

Leonard watched him for a moment, the words rolling through his mind. Was Spock trying to giving him a stationary tour? Maybe he was just bad at starting conversation. "I can't see the city from here." He commented, turning to look out at the overlapping dunes.

"Hospitals are always placed away from cities," Spock continued. "So that they are able to build their own energy for the sick to thrive in."

"Energy, huh?" A wind swept over the dunes, kicking up swirls of scarlet that played like the veils of dancers. Every name of red wa displayed in stunning vibrancy. The dips and curves of the sand, the pale clouds, wispy against the blood red sky; the deep mahogany of the distant mountains. Here, the world was open and endless, wonderfully isolated. Leonard had to admit, it was stunning. "I guess they picked an okay spot."

Spock's PADD buzzed from across the room, and his shoulders snapped into a stiff line.

"There is a garden in the center of the hospital. Perhaps they will allow you to visit it." Were his final words to Leonard before he went to his PADD. With a soft sigh, Leonard decided to count sand dunes.

 

* * *

 

  
Plomeek soup and cactus juice, again. Despite Leonard's first praise of it, he found himself starting to hate the smell of it. Too tomato-y, too carrot-y, there were bits of green stuff mixed in it that stuck to his tongue. As Leonard stirred his soup, delaying another bite, the words of his father drifted back to him. 'Be thankful for the little things, it makes a big difference'.

He should lighten up. He was half-passed miserable already, he didn't need to add to it. Being on the wrong side of the hospital bed was the worst part. Now, he didn't have anyone to talk to, nothing to do with his hands and no way to escape his hounding thoughts. The ever-present headache in the back of his skull didn't help. Watching the soup drip off his spoon, he tried to think of the good things.

It had flavor. Leonard had chewed his way through too many Dry-Pacs to turn his nose up at real flavor. And it was actual food, not the re-purposed, reconstituted, reconfigured, 'synthetically engineered for optimal substance' crap from a replicator. Real, earth grown food. Or, Vulcan grown, anyways.

A shadow cast over Leonard, and he lifted his eyes, hesitantly. Spock stood beside his bed, lunch tray in his hands. He took in the Vulcan's feature, how the sharp cut of his cheek bones were rounding out after only a few days. Silence pressed between them, and Leonard began to wonder about what Spock was contemplating with that steel in his hands.

"You wanna sit down?" He offered, as though breaking the silence first would protect him.

"I will, thank you." Spock accepted, and Leonard jerkily shifted into action.

Folding his legs, he tried to make room for Spock despite there being plenty. It was made to accommodate the average Vulcan, a height that Leonard didn't quite fill. Neither did Spock, he was learning. Spock being short, that was one thing he never dreamed of. 'Giraffe-legged, gangly-armed, lanky ass bastard', was a more likely description.

The bed dipped under Spock's weight, and Leonard watched as he crossed his legs, balancing the tray across his knees. He held his bowl in his gloved hands, suspending it by his fingertips. The same urge to talk about soup crept up Leonard's throat. He should bring up the city, Spock liked talking about that.

"Plomeek is the foremost indigenous plant," Spock began. "It grows in all climates and hemispheres, and is a staple in the diet across our cultures. It—"

Spock's hair shined like black Esterian silk. It was probably just as soft, just as fine. Now that they were married, he'd let Leonard run his hands through it, right? Just once? His skin was kind of pale looking, but that could be because he wasn't wearing his makeup. The faint orange tint around Spock's lips caught his eye. The plomeek soup must stain.

Did Leonard have orange lips? Another thing to add to how terrible he looked. How was Spock putting on his weight so fast? Must be a Vulcan thing. It was going to take him months to get back to health.

"That's real interesting, Spock," He interrupted as soon as Spock gave pause. "I grew up in a farming community, I know all about irrigation and whatnot. East Atlanta, 's nothing but fields and farm." Looking up from his fight to open the wet wipe Del had given him, a smile spread across his face. "Hey, that gives me an idea. Why don't we talk more personal things than plomeek?"

"'More personal'?" Spock echoed blankly.

"Yeah, more personal." Leonard's voice picked up, a warmth in his words. "Like...I dunno, tell me about your childhood. Or your parents, or how about your siblings? If you have 'em, that is. I grew up with c-cousins myself..."

Leonard's voice died away as Spock's shoulders ironed themselves into rigid line.

"The matters of the family are kept in the family." Spock answered, more interested in staring down his soup.

"I'm family now, aren't I?" He managed a little chuckle. Spock's eyes snapped to his, a deadly spark behind that void-black. His heart caught in his chest. Leonard's eyes followed Spock's, over to the computer station and he found that woman there. Again.

In the pit of his stomach laid hope that she was the only reason for Spock's...reaction.

"Yeah," He finally pulled his wet wipe free. He took his time scrubbing at his lips, letting his heart unwind itself. "Alright. Later."

The napkin came back clean.

 

* * *

 

 

For the next few days, Leonard only saw Spock when he was meditating or asleep. Unconscious, either way. Not exactly the prime time to have a conversation.

The hospital must have decided they were overstaying their welcome. From the moment the sun dare shine a ghost of light, he was doing exercises. Between breaks, he was covered in recovery aids devices and routinely scanned to track his progress. His only meals were specialized protein drinks and calorie stews with various support powders mixed in. Every sentenced he made was met with 'that is illogical', 'that is not logical', 'you are not thinking logically'.

Every aspect of his life was turning into cruel and unusual punishment. Even the life support belt, the only thing making this planet livable, was turning against him.

Leonard traced the red lines, laid by the band of the belt, following them to the shapes carved into his flesh by the solid pieces. It wasn't as though he could take it off, have a break from it mutilating his body. All he could do was change where it rested.

The vibrations pulsing over his body faded, the drone of the sonic shower winding down. Over stayed his shower visit. Again. Leonard stepped out, combing his hair into shape with is fingers as he searched for his clothes. Del had this weird sense of privacy, coming into the bathroom to collect his dirty clothes and replace them, while he was in the shower. She didn't see anything, but still. He expected better from a hospital.

In place of his pale blue pants and flowing shirt, Leonard found his shore leave clothes. A pair of worn-out jeans and faded T-shirt. Only he could make out 'Georgia Bulldogs' in the hinting of letters. Jim had said that Vulcans came to collect their belongings before they warped out, so this must mean it was moving day.

Dressing himself, he stepped out of the bathroom, wobbling slightly. It was a marked improvement from not being able to stand at all.

Across the room, a Vulcan stood speaking with one of the doctors. Their back was to Leonard, but he knew no one in the hospital dressed in flowing robes. All the staff wore tunics and pants. Looking around the room, he couldn't find Spock. Something crawled across his skin at the thought of being without him, not with these Vulcans around.

"Spock?" He called out, relieved when the figure turned around. Spock, dressed in a cerulean blue gown, trimmed with swirls of silver and white. There was something oddly comforting about seeing him in makeup again. It felt like this whole 'road to recovery' was finally over.

"Doctor, I am having a conversation." Spock stated, and Leonard couldn't help but narrow his eyes. He turned around, presumably apologizing to the Vulcan doctor. Leonard made his way to his bed, stopping himself from muttering like a scorned kid.

Del came over just as he sat down, holding out a pair of black slip-on shoes. When he looked up to thank her, he was met with a beaming grin.

"What's got you so happy?" He asked as he took the shoes. 'You're finally leaving', is what she would say.

"Nothing's concrete," She started, holding up her hands. "But there's some rumors that you're joining us at the Embassy Extension."

The shoe slipped out of Leonard's hand, hitting the ground with a slap. "To live there?" He asked, brows drawing together.

"No, to work as a doctor," Del picked it up before he could reach for it. "We only have one other doctor right now, the other left last week to have a baby."

"Oh," Leonard felt his shoulders drop. Whether it was relief or disappointment, he didn't know. He didn't expect a job offer. Honestly, he hadn't been expecting anything, he hadn't let himself think about it.

How stupid was that? Here he was, about to spend a year on an alien planet with a man he barely knew, as his legal spouse, and he hadn't even let himself think about it. How could he be so foolish?

"I'd be an honor to work with you." Leonard smiled, trying to regain his peaceful image. He was leaving this place, it was time for celebration. After working on the other shoe, he stood up, holding out his hand to her. "Thank you for your care and I eagerly await the call of duty."

Del giggled girlishly as she shook his hand, her grip loose and shy. Spock appeared by his side, their shoulders brushing. The sensation bloomed, spreading through Leonard's entire body, across his skin and past his bones. He made note long ago that Spock stayed a foot away from everyone, no exceptions. This must be one of the marriage benefits.

He hoped it didn't happen again.

"I understand you guys have a car waiting for you out front, but it's hospital policy I escort you there." Del said before turning to lead them out of the room. Spock's steps matched Leonard's in eerie rhythm. He struck up a conversation with Del, explaining the benefits of 'y'all' versus 'you guys'. Her giggles were the only thing to soothe him for the elevator ride down. His stomach sank lower with every floor they passed.

She told him about the small crew of people working in the Extension, the smaller crew working in the embassy itself. The words were noise to him, but he smiled anyways, and wished her 'til next time' as he ducked into the back of a sleek air-car.

There was damnation in the hiss of the door sealing shut.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow my tumblr for updates and whining.   
> CjTheShort.tumblr.com


	5. I, Leonard McCoy, hereby declare...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> May be edited later, notice will be posted if so.

 

Leonard shifted his legs, spreading them in an attempt to battle the gaps of space surrounding him. The headrest loomed somewhere above him and there was enough legroom for three of him. The distance between him and Spock was enough to stretch out in and still never touch. So why did he feel the world caving in?

He kept his eyes on the doors of the hospital, waiting for someone to come save him. 

Where were they even going? 

Why hadn't he thought of that before? Why hadn't he thought to question any of this? What the hell had gotten into him and made him so damn compliant? It had to be something in that soup...

The screen Spock had been tapping away at beeped in conformation and the air-car lurched forward. Great, one of those self-piloting deals. Leonard always loved when his new life started with a collision. 

Even better, he loved being forced into a hostage situation of a 'marriage' with some guy who was in a walking coma. Doing his job always did bite him in the ass. The worst decision he ever made was showing up to that drafting board. He should have used his savings to hire a pirate and have himself smuggled to a farming colony. That's what all the smart people did.

Hell, how was he supposed to be married to this guy at all? What did it even mean to live as a married couple? Did they expect him to...to love Spock? Cook him dinner? Oh, hell–they didn't expect them to have sex, did they? 

They'd already done that, and it wasn't even worth remembering, _apparently_. No point in doing it again. 

But, dammit, what if that was some major point? What if that's what got them exiled? That was the set up, that's why the Council had them whisked away. It was damned and be damned. 

Leonard's nails were biting into his palms when he glanced up to Spock. That curious fear of someone listening to his thoughts wasn't eased by the Vulcan's absent expression. Nothing would move him; not the funniest joke, not the worst tragedy, not even if Leonard started rambling these thoughts out-loud. 

There was a sense of comfort in that, in the idea that he could ask Spock these things with little response from him. It was tempting, the way touching a live-wire was tempting.

He wouldn't ask. He couldn't. It would just start some kind of argument.

The only thing that mattered was that if he didn't do this right, he was going to ruin Spock's life. Well, ruin it further. Everything else—Spock's lack of emotions, their knack for petty squabbles, the, uh, sex question—just had to go to the back burner.

Clearing his throat, Leonard dug for some peaceful words he could slap together. All he needed was to start a nice conversation. Their past week of encounters had been less than pleasant, less than fluid. 

"So, where're we going?" He finally managed to string together. 

"To my family's city residence," Spock answered swiftly, still facing forward.

Leonard shifted, carefully considering what to say next. "We're not going to be living with your family, are we?" He asked, his tone wary, uneven. It might be only a temporary thing, just until they find their own place. Or worse, it was tradition to live with one of the couple's parents. Maybe that's why Spock skipped the family topic.

"The house has stood unoccupied for over a decade," Spock said, and Leonard's shoulders eased. Just for the moment. Then the memory of his first marriage, of his dearest ex-mother-in-law, prickled up his spine. 

"Well, maybe you could tell me about 'em, anyways." Leonard insisted. 

"It is important that you learn the etiquette of Vulcan," Spock spoke louder than before, a habit he must have picked up from working around humans. "The rituals of greeting are especially—"

"Spock, we just got out of the hospital," Leonard waved his hands, as though to clear away the topic. "Can't we just have some easy talk and save everything else for later?" He shifted his weight, turning his body to Spock. "I barely know anything about you and we're gonna be living together for a year. Tell me something about yourself, about your family, anything." He paused before giving a little smile, as though to he could charm a Vulcan. 

Spock's eyes locked with his, holding them with the intent of a vice and Leonard felt his smile wither from his face.

"On Vulcan," Spock's voice was an iron grip, as chilly as a drowning pool. "One waits their turn to speak." 

Leonard's eyes narrowed as he folded his arms over his chest and leaned back in his seat. Spock began talking again, and he made it a point to consider it only background noise as he focused ahead. 

A massive wall greeted him, the grand archway standing guard over the road. As they drew nearer, Leonard could see that the wall was built from fragments and chunks, an eclectic mosaic of textures and age-faded colors. Air plants had taken root in the nooks and crannies, speckling vibrant color here and there. Leonard dipped forward so he could watch the archway swallow them, marveling at the hundreds of bells and chimes that were strung from it. Glittering glass and metal swaying with the arid breeze their glint stinging his eyes. He could only wonder what it sounded like to stand under them, if the wall wrapped around the entire city; why it did. 

"Doctor, are you paying attention?" Spock's voice cut through his thoughts, and Leonard spared him a brief side-long glance.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm listenin' to ya." He muttered, ignoring Spock's skeptical silence. His mind was too focused on statues of circles that adorned the empty stretch between the wall and the buildings in the distance. It was at least a mile of smooth sand and curious art, assembled with the same uniformity as the wall. Some shined, others were craggy and sun-bleached, a few were solid pieces, but most were chucks and pieces forced together.  

He noticed that the line of buildings had a curve, mimicking the bow of the wall. Was this whole city built in a circle? Did the little rock circles have something to do with that? What were the bells about? 

Leonard looked to Spock, toying with the idea of asking him, but he wasn't slowing down on his lesson. Besides, he was still a little pissed at him for talking down to him like he was some rowdy kid. Leonard just let himself get lost in the sleek architecture, the sculptures on every street and the plants that clung to them. Cozy little one-story shops made of clay were tucked between soaring skyscrapers of fantastic design. 

The streets were full of people who walked apart from each other, all with their heads high and shoulders straight. It wasn't like other metropolitan-scapes Leonard had witnessed. No bright ads flashed from over head, no holograms sprung out to push a product, people were allowed to mind themselves without interruption. 

When the air-car paused at a stoplight, the pedestrians crossed swiftly and with direction. No stopping to dig in their pockets, no lingering on the sidewalk and deciding to cross with only moments left on the clock, just moving across and getting on with their day. Maybe there was a thing or two to like about Vulcan. 

Though, the traffic lights might take a bit to get used to. Green apparently mean 'stop' and red signaled 'go'. Color symbolism and gestures were always the harder parts of adapting to a new culture. It'd gotten Leonard in trouble more times than he cared to think of. An open palm to some people was a death sentence, where a lack of one was also a death sentence to the people down the road a ways. 

He'd have a year to perfect it, thankfully, rather than just a brief video to guide him. Leonard had made due with less than that before, usually with much the help of much more merciful hosts. He should probably start listening to what Spock was saying, for his own good. 

They couldn't risk being in any deeper shit.

 

* * *

 

His head ached with hours of Spock's jabbering. A few times, he'd thought to interrupt, but mostly he just tuned him out when he thought Spock was being condescending. So, basically, he missed a lot of what was said. 

Leonard noticed the streets they passed were becoming empty. The sleek and smooth of the city gave away to rounder and rougher designs, reminding him of adobes. Most of them were encircled with walls that had been claimed by pale blue ivy, their gated archways hung with bells and chimes. The statues here were visibly aged, any shine or sharp edge had been scrubbed away by the years. 

This had to be the residential area, where he and Spock were going to be living out their sentencing of domesticity. His heart kicked up at the reminder, his stomach winding itself into a stress ball. Any one of these houses could be it. Any single one of them could be the prison he'd be calling home for the next year.

Holy hell, this was real. This was all real. He was here on Vulcan, married to Spock and his ass in the fire to not screw them over any further.

Leonard swallowed the stone in his throat, ignoring how it tumbled to the pit of his stomach when the air-car took a sharp turn. At least the houses were pretty on this street. The yards seemed roomy behind their walls and the streets were clean, it might not be too bad to live here. He could make it work. 

The air-car slowed as they approached the end of the street and he sat up in his seat, ready to spring free. As soon as the lock clicked open, Leonard forced his aching body out of the car. The sound of his shoes hitting the cobblestone was like a gunshot in the night. 

A gusting breeze played through his hair, ivy leaves rustling, adding to the harmony of chimes that played for as far as he could hear. Many of the houses were obscured by their high walls, and he could hear no noise of life coming from them. No chatter from the backyards, no warning calls of domesticated animals, no holovisions playing loudly through open windows. Only the bells and leaves spoke. 

It made him feel like he had broken into somewhere that was forbidden, forgotten. 

Spock shut his door with care, his canvas slippers making only whispers against the stone street. Leonard stepped back against a wall to let him pass, watching as Spock opened the gate and went in without him. The air-car slunk away, leaving Leonard abandoned to his fate. 

It was tempting to linger outside, procrastinate being beat over the head with another realization of 'holy shit, this is real'. But the longer he stood on the barren street, surrounded by nothing where life should be, the more his skin crawled. It finally chased him inside the gate. 

Leonard paused, taking in the neatly raked sand, the small carved statues of stoic Vulcans, the path made of laid stones. The front porch was made of colored glass shapes and pale clay, Leonard admired them as he slid the door open. 

Plants laced the edges of the room, trailing freely up the clay spaces of the walls, leafy vines looping down from the ceiling. The circus of colors bathing exotic reminded him of the relaxation rooms on Wriggley's. Spock's shoes by the door made Leonard remember the few words he had cared to listen to. Kicking off them off, he toed them to lay neatly against the other pair. 

He hesitated outside the door, peeking through the diagonal line of glass. There was a narrow foyer, leading directly to what he guessed to be the livingroom. From here he could see boxes marked with the Starfleet insignia. Spock moved by, clothes folded neatly over his arms. 

Sliding the door open, Leonard glanced over the closets framing the foyer. Some of the shelves had shoes, coats and hats hung from the racks. The lack of dust struck him as odd, but he tucked it away. His focus belonged to the stack of boxes dominating the livingroom. 

It was a pretty place, white clay walls that lacked edge or angle. It reminded him of the many cob houses he had stayed at over the decades. All rounded doorways, bowl-like ceilings, and shelves carved from the wall. The only difference was this floor was made of a hard stone, not wood or straw. 

Leonard moved forward to open one of the boxes, finding his books carelessly crammed in. Scoffing, he began pulling them out, checking that none of the pages were torn or spines broken. Some of these books were older than him, antiques! If whatever lug-headed ensign—

"This way will be your room," Spock's voice spooked him and the book hit the ground with a <i>thud</i>. Leonard whipped around, following the line of Spock's arm to the hallway that curved and dipped out of sight. Reaching down to pick up his book, he carried it with him as he followed Spock. 

The hallway was narrow, hollows on either side adorned with small statues and what Leonard guessed to be religious scenes. There was only one way a Southern Baptist could interpret a painting of three men crossing a desert under bright stars. The bedroom itself was bare, save for a bed crowning the middle of the room. It was rather large, with many shelves and carved out closets. Small, rounded windows arranged in a circle allowed natural light through the ceiling. 

Giving a nod of appreciation, Leonard pushed back the crowd of words so he could think of a proper remark. 

"It's real nice," He said, looking around the room once more. There was a large window across from the bed that looked into what Leonard guessed was a garden. "Very...big. Roomy. Where are you going to sleep?" It slipped out before he could stop himself. 

"I have my own room." Spock answered, and Leonard felt his breath come easier. 

"Is that, uh...typical of a married couple?" He asked. Spock cocked a brow. "I'm gonna start settling in." He spun on his heel.

Leonard ignored the eyes on his back as he set the single book on a shelf. There would be plenty of room for his stuff, he was sure. All the garbage he had assembled over the years had been tucked away in his issued storage unit. He remembered when he was assigned to the Enterprise and he thought he'd just get a bow or two from his unit. There were eight.

Leonard kept his eyes to himself as he gathered armfuls out of his boxes, lining the short shelves with books, hanging his civilian clothes in the open closet, trying to remember where he had gotten all the little knick-knacks from. Keepsakes were a bad habit of his, passed on genetically through the McCoys.

The sunlight had crossed his floor when he finally rested on the edge of his bed. It wasn't much darker than when they had arrived, though. Must be that awful 'two suns' deal. 

Laying back on the bed, he reached for his PADD, hoping that Jim was able to respond to his last message. But, just like the hospital supplied PADD, it was on the Vulcan server and there was notification from Jim. A news page greeted him, filled with a language he couldn't make heads of and people he didn't recognize. 

There was an older Vulcan male wearing formal ambassador clothes, under it a Vulcan man and woman standing together, their first two fingers touching, and a photo of the Federation Hall of Embassies under that. The rest looked like crop reports and an image of a Starbase. Not the most entertain things for an illiterate to look at. He could just reach for one of his books if he was that bored.

"I have—"

"Jesus Christ!" Leonard jolted up. Spock stood in the doorway, his head tilted at the reaction. "You need a damn bell on your neck." Leonard huff, pressing his hand to his heart. 

"I have prepared dinner." Spock repeated, folding his hands behind himself. "Plomeek soup and bread." 

"Is that all you people eat around here?" He grumbled, forcing himself off the bed. It was tempting to bring his PADD, as Spock would be no conversation, but the PADD wouldn't be much of a dinner guest, either. 

"It would not be wise to change your diet suddenly," Spock turned once Leonard was on his feet. "The bread will be a new introduction and it will be a week before another is attempted." 

"I think I know a thing or two about that, Spock." From training and personal experience, alike. Leonard couldn't help it, a man could only live on Dry-Pacs if he had the will to live. Without it, he was tempted to bite into anything that drew his eye. 

"Indeed." Was all Spock replied as he lead him through the small kitchen to what appeared to be a sunroom, set with a large dining table that only had two meals. Spaced very far apart, might he add. Leonard didn't fuss, just sat down and tugged on the dainty gloves as Spock did. 

The dishes were lovely, dark earthen ware, strangely refreshing to see after so many years of black hard plastic bowls and plates. Made him feel like he was actually sitting down to a real dinner. If only it weren't Plomeek and cactus.

 Leonard tore a chunk off of his loaf slice, dipping it in the soup. It dulled the disinterest enough. The bread itself had a damp, thick texture, like foam. It was a nice change to the wafer-thin pieces of crumbing disappointment they served in mess halls and chow tents around the galaxy. It was delicious, despite the off-putting purple color. 

"You made this?" Leonard asked, gesturing with his chunk of bread. Spock didn't look up from his bowl, but shook his head. 

"It was supplied by my mother's staff, who saw that the house was with necessities before our arrival." He explained. 

"Oh," Leonard hadn't stopped to question what they'd be eating. He was too spoiled by Starfleet and their camp systems. 'Spoiled by Starfleet', what a sentence... "Well, that was kind of her. She lives near-by?" 

"No." 

Leonard paused, testing the air. It wouldn't be wise to push until the bough broke. An argument wasn't a luxury he felt they could afford. 

"So, what's it made out of?" He decided was a better topic. 

"A type of rice that is native to this hemisphere." 

Leonard waited for him to go on, elaborate in painful detail the ecosystem it was from and the economic value it held. Instead, Spock sipped his soup and kept his eyes on the table. Leonard accepted the silence with a sigh. 

He took in the sunroom around them, the tall panes of glass, the stiff couches and lounge chairs on either side, the garden surrounding them. For desert people, they had a fascination with plants. Mostly ivy and wiry grasses, those hearty plants that weren't much to look at, but plants. 

He'd always liked the idea of eating in a sunroom, or surrounded by gardens. It lessened the claustrophobia of living in space for so long. He could see nature, see that there was a planet under his feet and an atmosphere to protect him.

When his dishes were empty, Leonard stacked them up, and Spock whisked them out of his hands. Shifting on his feet, he debated following Spock back into the house. What would he do in there? Sit on his bed, look at the pictures on the news page until he fell asleep? 

Turning around, he decided to explore the garden. He slid the glass door open and stepped onto the carved steps, looking over the decorated landscape. Stone statues of abstract design, standing in sand laid with patterns that was interrupted by a pathway that lead to a small fountain on his right, but he was drawn to the left. Drawn to the hanging basket seat that was tucked against the wall. Unlike the the rest of the furniture that unforgivably hard, this was nested with cushions. 

Leonard wasn't an expert on Vulcan furniture, but he did know when something was off. Glancing around, Spock wasn't hovering in any doorways to stop him, so he took a seat. His aching eased and Leonard gave into the soft pillows cradling him. His bare feet rested on the warm stone path, idly rocking as the sweet song of nightbirds filled the air. 

Out here, there was a sense of peace, a sense of freedom, a sense of mercy. 

Tomorrow would be a different day. A better day. He and Spock just needed to settle in a little, that was all. They'd make this work. 

They had to. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check my blog for updates on this work, I have a rather whack posting schedule.


	6. The Road Taken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all thought this was abandoned, didn't you?

  
_Hands brushed against his in the darkness, cold hands. Cold like stone. Fingertips traced the lines of his palms in reverent strokes. It soothed away the fear of being crushed. The weight on him—on his chest, on his legs, on his stomach—is dooming. Damning. Skin whispers against skin, coaxing a sigh from his chest. The weight seeps further down with his exhale, he can't reclaim his breath in. He's going to suffocate, smother, have the air forced from his lungs until he fell into that forever sleep; but that's alright. This is a good end._

 

"Doctor McCoy."

"It'sa damn case'a lung rot," Cold marble bit the soles of Leonard's feet as he steadied himself upright. "I keep tellin' 'em an' I keep tellin' 'em—" He paused when his searching hand found no uniform shirt hung on the wall.

This wasn't an outpost. This wasn't the Enterprise. This was his room in Spock's house. Well, Leonard's house, too. _Their_ house.

Spock raised the lights, never moving from the doorway. His face was painted elegantly, robes simple and long. Had his waist always dipped in like that?

Leonard tried to find somewhere else to rest his gaze as he gathered his mind. The window beside him was dark. Only the light of a distant streetlight interrupted the still night. There were no signs of morning, no sunrise, no birds, no people—if people even lived in this neighborhood.

Leonard squinted as he turned back to Spock. "What time's it?"

"The first hour." Spock answered.

Leonard wavered, waiting for the Vulcan to elaborate. The only time Spock didn't pour over every excruciating detail was when Leonard wanted him to. "An' when the hell's that?" He prompted with wave of his arm.

"It is the traditional waking time." Spock folded his arms behind himself. "It is an hour before the first sun rises, allowing us to begin the day's tasks while it is still cool."

"Huh," Right on time then. Probably.

Digging through his closet, Leonard couldn't find a single shirt he'd wear to the first day of new job. Why didn't he just throw this stuff away rather than send it off to storage? Half this stuff he didn't remember buying, or ever seeing before. Why couldn't he have a few more days to settle in, buy himself a proper outfit or two?

Spock was lingering in his doorway when he turned back. Those Vulcan eyes, impossible to read, impossibly black, weighed on him like the calculating gaze of a panther. Leonard challenged his stare, even as primal fear crawled up his throat.

" _What?_ " He snapped.

Spock drew away like a specter; slowly, grudgingly, piece by piece. The embroidered curtain that served as his door fell back into place with a hushed noise, covering whatever sound Spock's steps were.

Maybe he was a specter; a ghoul torturing Leonard for all his sins and trespasses. This was his living punishment, his living own living hell. Vulcan looked too fitting to not be.

He had to stop thinking like that.

This wasn't anybody's fault, it certainly wasn't Spock's. They were stuck together.

Hell, they weren't just stuck together, they were stuck _in this together_. Stuck under the guillotine that the Council strung over their heads. It would be a team effort to make it through the year. He had to try for nicer, be a little more forgiving.

Stepping onto the dining patio, Leonard straightened the hem of his T-shirt. It wasn't nervous preening. His life-support belt kept grabbing the fabric, working it up. What did he have to be nervous about?

Spock didn't look up from his bowl. His fascination with Leonard must have passed.

"Mornin'," Leonard called out as he walked around the table, to the same seat Spock set for him yesterday. The one that was polar opposite to Spock. He bit back a sigh as he looked down at breakfast. Plomeek soup, cactus juice, and bread. What a surprise.

The cool of the night settled on his skin like seeds, their roots spreading down through his muscles and twining around his bones. Leonard fought back a yawn as he stirred his soup, the damp steam kissing away the ache in his knuckles. Light from the patio cast the garden leaves in warm colors, outlining the faces of the statues in stark shadows. Not a sound stirred the air. No car engines, no animal noises, no people noises, not even the window. It was the lack of wind, the lack of whispering leaves, that drew out how lonely the dark was here.

"Mornin'," Leonard repeated, his voice raised and firm.

Spock finally lifted his eyes. His weighty glare had softened, resting easily on the doctor. Even so, he returned Leonard's sternness. "There is a topic I must discuss with you."

"Yeah," Leonard sighed out. "Of course you do." He nearly submitted to another lecture, but Spock's deep breath in rattled his nerves. "I just woke up, Spock, can't you have a little mercy?"

Spock's eyes fell to the side as he considered the doctor's words. With a soft nod, he agreed, and silence slipped between them.

The absolute stillness of the night crept up Leonard's spine. Peace was nice, quiet was better, but silence? Silence meant trouble. Silence meant something bad was about to happen, or had happened. It meant something was out there and everything but him knew it.

"I didn't mean 'don't talk to me'," He offered, hoping Spock would meet his eyes. "I just meant that I don't want a lesson."

"The...subject we must discuss is of paramount importance. It is relevant to your beginning work at the Embassy today." Something in Spock's tone seemed oddly appeasing, as though he were coaxing Leonard to this subject. It was nice not to be lectured at, to be treated with a shred of respect. But it also made him anxious, more anxious than the silence. Spock had never been delicate, not about anything. Not death, not loss, not assault.

  
"Well," Leonard churned his soup. Spock didn't phrase it like bad news. Just that it was 'relevant' and 'important'. Like everything else he had been drilling into his head. "If it's important, I guess it shouldn't wait."

"When you are with the other humans at the Embassy, they will ask you questions." Spock's hands found each other, resting neatly against the edge of the table. "Questions about us. About our...union, and how it came to be."

Leonard shifted in his seat. Maybe he was just sleep deprived, but he swore there was emotion in Spock's voice. Awkward emotion.

"I'll keep it to myself, Spock." Leonard assured quick with a smile and nod.

"You must understand," Spock paused, his fingers readjusting themselves, shifting with what Leonard dared called anxiety. "While our...experience was natural, it is also...shameful of a Vulcan to speak of. It is never mentioned in common settings or brought up to discuss as a casual topic. The only places it may be discussed are courts and sacred grounds. Outsiders must never know of it. This is the purpose of the Silences. M'Benga was allowed vague information for the sake of my care, the emphasis being placed on the signs of an illness that he would have to act on by shielding me away from the rest of the crew."

Leonard felt his stomach sink. M'Benga was doing his job, locking Spock away. He was doing as instructed, as he was ordered. And Leonard had to be a boneheaded old man and shove his nose where it didn't belong.

Spock continued. "You must not even hint to your co-workers, human or otherwise, about our experience. You may lie to them or simply not answer when they ask. It is imperative you keep this as you deepest secret."

"I will." The weight of the Council's ruling crushed out any humor he could have found in Spock telling him to lie. This was their 'make-or-break'. Once again, Leonard was given one rule to follow, and he'd be damned if he didn't keep it.

Literally.

Spock watched him for a moment, his eyes seeking something in Leonard, some sign of disobedience. Then, he looked down at his own breakfast and slipped on his gloves in a snappy motion. That must mean the conversation was all wrapped up.

Maybe silence wasn't so bad. It gave him time think. It'd been so hard to think, lately. Not nearly as hard as it was at the hospital, where his thoughts had been cloudy or crushed out by an ever-lasting tension headache, but still hard. The headache had yet to subside.

"Perhaps," Spock began and Leonard tensed instantly. "After you are more accustomed to your life here, I will give you a tour of the neighborhood. We may even visit the Old Quarter." Spock didn't look up, missing the soft smile that spread across the old doctor's face. Leonard shifted in his seat, lost on what to say as warmth settled in his chest.

"I think I'd like that," Leonard glanced down at his half-finished soup, but he couldn't wipe the smile from his lips.

After breakfast, Spock taught Leonard how to operate the sonic dishwasher, the oven, and what constituted as a microwave. His instructions were surprisingly patient, as were the ones that he gave when showing Leonard the air-car and navigation system.

Spock's close proximity didn't urge him to step away. It no longer felt crowding, suffocating, violating. The fact that Spock was willing to be so close to him made him think they were sharing the same idea; that getting along wasn't so bad.

"I have stored a serving of soup and bread for when you return home. It will likely be three hours or so before I do." Spock said as Leonard buckled into the air-car. "As humans traditionally eat approximately three hours apart, we will be able to share the evening meal together."

"Sounds nice," An easy smile crossed Leonard's lips. It was just the two of them, under the waning night on an empty street. Birdsong filled the air, a rising sun lighting the sky to a rosy shade, pinpricks of stars littered above them. The pale pink touched Spock's hair, contrasting beautifully with his somber robes. It was almost romantic.

Leonard wouldn't take it that far.

Clearing his throat, his smile tightened as he reached for the car door. "Well, I'll see you later." He paused before adding, "Have a good day at work." Only because it seemed appropriate.

Spock tilted his head to the side, and Leonard could see him flick through a few options to respond with. "And to you." He decided on, the words leaving his lips carefully.

Leonard couldn't hold back the grin, feeling practically victorious as he shut the door. Or maybe he was just glad. Glad that they could get along so well, with just a little effort and elbow grease.

They might just survive this year. Hell, they might even come out on top.

 

* * *

 

"You are late."

Leonard whipped around, biting back a curse that half-slipped from his lips. The Vulcan woman looked down at him with keen eyes, taking note of his tie-dye shirt and worn jeans. He cocked a brow at her robe, assembled from complex folds of overlapping fabrics, all varying colors and textures and patterns. The silver power dusted over her eye lids shimmered, interrupted by thick kohl lining the rims of her eyes. 'Under-dressed' hardly described how Leonard felt.

"Sorry about that, I got lost. Can't read the signs." He explained, tucking his hands into his pockets.

"That is understandable." She watched him expectantly. The thick silence pressed against his chest. Her gaze was just a dark as Spock's, just as heavy. Leonard's searched her for any emotion as the silence drug out, any inflection that could explain—

"Oh, right," Clearing his throat, he tried to remember the proper words that went with the greeting. Spock had done his best to pound it into his skull and Leonard just had to ignore it as part of his rebelling. Really smart of him, as he couldn't figure out how the salute was supposed to work. His first two fingers would team together, then his attempt to join his last two would pull the first two apart, then fixing the first two would pull the last two apart. After a moment or so, he ended up with splayed fingers and no idea how to move any of them.

The woman continued to watch him, never interrupting his struggle. She had to be getting some kind of amusement out of it, he was certain.

"Anyways," Leonard cleared his throat, hand dropping to his side in defeat. "Live long and prosper, my name's Leonard McCoy." He bounced on the balls of his feet, and her eyes never strayed from his.

In a stiff, careful motion, she greeted him with the correct salute. "Peace and long life, Leonard McCoy. I am T'Risa."

Show off.

"If you will follow me, I will escort you to the Terran section of the Embassy." And with that, she was striding swiftly down the blank hall. Leonard couldn't help but feel self-conscious about the 'slap, slap, slap' of his canvas shoes as he followed after her.

Just as Spock did, this woman walked like a ghost. Her robe whispered the secret that she wasn't a phantom leading him to his demise in this maze of bleak walls and unmarked doors.

"I am the domestic manager of your branch. If you require supplies or unprovided accommodations, you will bring it to my attention." She spoke almost as swiftly as she walked.

"Thank you, ma'am, I'll be—" Leonard nearly slammed into a wall as she snapped left, zipping down a new hallway. "Be sure to."

"We have found humans benefit from learning from their co-workers as it assists in the process of pack bonding by promoting inclusion and trust." Her voice was clear and absolute, if marked by the slightest of accents. Not like he could just, when he himself couldn't get shed of that Southern drawl. "As so, you will learn mostly from your co-workers, and I will return to you at the end of your work day to assist in any remaining questions you have."

"Sounds—"

T'Risa faced him, not at all phased with how Leonard stumbled back to avoid crashing into her. Spock had stressed how important personal space was to Vulcans. After that rocky greeting, he had to at least get this part right.

"This is the entrance to the Terran Embassy. I will guide you to the medical center and leave you with Doctor Gershwin for your introduction and training. Is this acceptable?"

Leonard paused, taking in the large door behind her that was decorated with two dozen different plaques in two dozen different languages, all stating 'TERRAN EMBASSY'.

Life was always sneaking up on him, so sudden, with no way back. When was the last time he made a life decision for himself?

Well...technically, he made one when he agreed to Spock...but that wasn't the point. The point was, life moved too damn fast.

"It's just fine with me." He answered, ignoring the tiredness lacing his voice. She dipped her chin and stepped closer to the door. It slid soundlessly open despite its size, striking Leonard once more with minute fascination.

"Good morning, T'Risa!" A chipper voice called from behind the sprawling greeting desk. She was a young woman, not much older than his own daughter. Her dark hair was piled high on her head, makeup thick and bright in the fashion of the new generation. "Oh, is that the new doctor? Hello!"

"You may socialize with him later, Lieutenant Dimaandal." T'Risa clipped, leading Leonard swiftly by.

An embarrassed smiled curved across Dimaandal's lips, but that didn't stop her from waving after him with the enthusiasm of a child. Leonard offered his own smile back with a short wave.

A hint of hope dared grow in his chest. This wasn't an outpost, he had to remind himself. The people here probably wouldn't look at him as just another rival to compete with over resources. They might not ignore him because they knew he'd be gone in a week. This was much more civilized territory, like the Enterprise. People here could be friendly.

Leading him through one final door, T'Risa told him to wait as she went to retrieve Doctor Gershwin. He stood by the front desk, thankful that it was vacant. The waiting-room he stood in was small and just as empty. A few chairs lined opposing walls and the magazine tapes that were scattered over the small tables had a sense of crafted carelessness. Everything was impeccable, the carpet well groomed and the upholstery of the seats new, unworn.

"Woah!" A voice laughed behind him. "I didn't know the Sudden Deaths were touring on Vulcan!"

Leonard just offered a feeble smile to the woman. Damn tie-dye.

She, too, was about the age of his daughter, somewhere in her early twenties. Her long black hair was swept over one shoulder, showing off the tattoo of a running deer on her neck. Dark freckles dusted across her face, giving the impression of a faint blush.

"Akari Ito, nurse," She held out her hand to him, easily leaning over the desk between them with her height. "You look a lot different from your pictures, doctor."

"Do I?" Leonard asked, uncertain of his own tone. Mostly, because he was confused to how many pictures she'd seen of him.

"Yeah, I imagined you a lot shorter," She gave a smile, as though to reassure him. "Of course, you were next to your husband in most of them."

Husband. That felt weird. People thought of Spock as his husband, it wasn't just some weird inside joke between them. It was public, it was official; it was a little too real. Hell, all of this was a little too real. 'Husband'.

"Yeah. My husband." Leonard cleared his throat, forcing a smile back to his lips. He could see her gather her courage, piecing her words together, lips parting—  
  
"Doctor McCoy," T'Risa's voice made him spin around, just in time to be nearly gut-punched. His hand was snatched up before he could think.

"Charlie Gershwin," The man beamed up at him. His grip was firm, keeping Leonard from escaping his furious shaking that had him rocking on his feet. "MD, PhD, head physician. So great to meet you, I mean, really meet you in person."

"Leonard McCoy," He answered back, needlessly. "It's great to meet you, too." He broadened his smile, trying to keep his eyes on Charlie's rather than his pile of wild hair. With his short beard and thick brows, Leonard couldn't help but think he resembled something of a mad inventor. He was also young, skin unmarred by lines or crows feet. "It's great to be here."

"Do you feel settled, Doctor McCoy?" T'Risa asked, pointedly ignoring their still joined hands.

"Yes, thank you—" He managed out, just as she turned away to disappear through the waiting room door. She must be a busy person.

"C'mon, I'll show you to your office," Charlie clapped him on the back, leading him through the staff door. "And maybe we can get you set up with some uniforms, too, huh? We don't want anyone to mix you up with a rockstar."

At least Charlie was trying to help. That's all that mattered, he supposed.

It wasn't the smallest facility he'd ever visited. It was crowded, but well equipped. Despite his statement being that he was going to show Leonard his office, Charlie took him on a tour of the entire medical center instead. He boasted about the tools and machines they had at their disposal, pouring over the details of his state-of-the-art technology and just how new and improved everything was, right down to the tongue depressors.

Leonard nodded along, not wanting to interrupt his jovial tour guide despite the fact that he'd worked with the same devices on the Enterprise. She had been renovated for the new crew, cleaned up, no expense spared in fitting her with only the finest of the Federation's inventions.

It had been quite the shock for him then, knowing he was working with new tools. Tools that weren't made before his parents. Sometimes, out in the war zones, he'd be working with tech that not even the old timers were certain of. It was always guessing games and 'touch this here, but don't touch that, never touch that'. Now, he had to comfort of familiar, suitable tools.

"We only have 65 patients, most of them aren't on campus. They're off studying geology and zoology and all that stuff, but as we're one of the few locations that can treat humans, we can see a lot of action." Charlie lead him away from the sono-image rending machine, finally taking him to his office as promised. "At any moment, we can get a call to expect three patients from a landslide, or a wild animal attack, or heat stroke. It's best to just stay on your toes."

The only door without a plaque was at the end of the short hall. Leonard noted the office wasn't much to look at. A desk, a digital window, and a chair or two; nothing he could complain about. He'd worked with much less. The various sized panels assembling the wall were a curious choice, though. Surely they had the materials to make something other than a patchwork pattern.

Snorting, Charlie shook his head at himself. "Of course, what am I doing telling you be prepared? I've seen your file, you're practically an elite."

Leonard wanted to say that he was far from being anybody's 'old timer elite', but that wasn't true. There was a time when he was a youngster like Charlie, looking up to people his age like they were mages who had seen forever and a day. Of course, he was a lot more scared than Charlie, in those days.

With mortars shaking the earth beneath his feet and lasers tearing through the air, the echoes of the the particles they incinerated shrieking and screaming, who wouldn't be scared? He was just a kid from small town who grew up playing in a yard surrounded by a white picket fence, married his high school sweetheart, had a kid of his own, then got divorced; horrifically average. What the hell was supposed to prepare him for that draft card?

He was glad that a kid like Charlie could have it easier. His time on this planet was spent taking care of people with desk jobs and peaceful missions, not piecing together bits of a soldier so he could toss them back into the war.

"So, this is your office. From here you'll familiarize yourself with some of the patient profiles and...well, you know what to do." Charlie grinned as he moved to the left wall, pressing one of the lengthwise panels. It clicked, but no further noise was made as it slid away into the wall. "This is your bed," He stood aside as the narrow mattress slid out. It was neatly made, pressed white sheets and a flat pillow. "Everything's been cleaned for you, don't worry. It's good for naps and staying the night when you're on call. It won't mess up your back that badly, promise."

"I've slept on worse," Leonard offered humor. Charlie accepted it eagerly.

"Let's get you fitted for that uniform, huh?" He asked, giving the bed a shove that sent it to tuck itself away.

Leonard stole one last look around his new office before following Charlie out. It would feel more comfortable when he brought his decorations in. The Enterprise had felt just as vacant when he first arrived, all bare walls and unfamiliar faces. Funny how he had expected to spend five years there and barely made it through one. Now, he was supposed to spend just one year here. He'd just have to see how it turned out.

Charlie greeted him to the supply room by slinging a measuring tape around his hips. Leonard cooperated, listening patiently to Charlie's 'hmm's and 'huh's as he went.

"I think we have a few things in your size. It might be a little big for now, but once you get back to your base weight, it'll fit like a glove." He spoke as he went to the scrub machine, tapping at a few buttons.

It felt like years since Leonard had seen a scrub machine, or any laundry machine for that matter. They were always a joy to have around. Put the dirty clothes in, watch them get whisked away, then order your share of clean clothes. No scrubs piling up in the hamper, no waiting three days for a single undershirt, just instant gratification. This place was shaping up to be heavenly.

"Speaking of base weight," Charlie's voice interrupted. "All the 'real' meals are in the cafeteria. It's all real Earth food, with the exception of meat. Any meat is synthetic or replicated."

"Fine with me," Leonard took the stack of uniforms handed to him. Each set was neatly wrapped in a protective cover, but he could still smell the sterilizer. The deep navy made him pause, his eyes so used to something lighter, more energetic. That hopeful blue of Starfleet. "I try to keep vegetarian, if I can help it."

"Right, right," Charlie nodded knowingly. "For the husband."

There was that word again. 'Husband'. How odd it tasted, even without saying it at all.

"Yeah," Leonard smoothed at the cover of his uniform. "For the husband."

Charlie watched him for a moment, and Leonard could heat the words already. _'What's it like to be with a Vulcan?'_  

Instead, Charlie stepped forward to pat his shoulder.

"How about you change into your uniforms and get started on the patient files?" His voice was soft, sympathetic. For once, Leonard appreciated such a thing. "Lunch is in a few hours, I'll come get you and show you the cafeteria. Hey, then you can meet the rest of the gang!" He grinned, practically beaming at the idea. Leonard couldn't find any reason to disagree, so he didn't.

__

* * *

 

Something about statues suspended over a dining hall wasn't comforting. Leonard tried to focus on stirring sauce into his rice as conversation echoed around him. The openness of the room would hace soothed claustrophobia, if it didn't set the spacer in him on edge. He was used to living in boxes, being able to reach up and feel the ceiling brush against his finger tips.

It was just the open space and Zephram Cochrane dangling over his head that was making him antsy. That was all. It wasn't the people surrounding him, all stealing lingering glances of him between words and bites of food. He felt like he was on display, everybody was talking about him without talking about him.

A few others joined the small medical team at their table. The zoology team, a few anthropologists, even a xeno-archaeologist and a linguist. They all fell into comfortable talk and teasing, pretending not to mind Leonard's silence too much. A few times he had tossed in a comment or a joke, trying his best to...do something. Prove he wasn't just that guy hitched to a Vulcan.

"So, Leo," Akari spoke up. Leonard looked up from his plate to find all eyes on him. It was like being the lamb invited to a lion's table. "How are you liking Vulcan?"

"You mean, 'how are you liking _Vulcans_ '?" Chester From Zoology cracked.

The table erupted into conflicting noises. Chuckles, shaming comments, Del trying to call attention to a different topic.

"Yeah, c'mon! What's it like?" A voice called over the others.

"You guys just leave him alone," Del held up her hands. "Vulcans are very private about their family life, don't bother him like that."

"But he's human, he can tell us. It won't hurt anything, will it?"

"He married a Vulcan, he has to uphold tradition." The anthropologist spoke.

"Aw, you're just being a stiff because you get to study that kinda stuff! We don't know anything!"

"Leonard," Del's soothing voice snuck through the bickering and arguing. "You don't have to tell us anything if you don't want to. You don't owe us anything."

Swallowing, Leonard's eyes flickered around the table. Spock had said they'd be curious. He said he was allowed to tell them anything they'd want to hear, as long as it wasn't the truth.

"I'll only answer the polite questions." Leonard decided. Despite supposedly being opposing, a few people leaned closer in.

"How'd you meet?" Akari asked.

"Just at work. Assigned to the same ship. He was the Science Officer, I was CMO." Leonard shrugged.

"And you guys just fell in love?" Her voice sweet sigh of a rom-com lover.

"Yeah," Leonard felt a smile tug at his lips. 'Fell in love', more like 'fell in loathing'. 'Irritation at first sight'. 'One true enemy'. This was the longest stretch of time that he and Spock had gone without snapping at each other, and only because they were desperate to avoid exile. "I guess you could say that."

"Does he tell you he loves you?" Chester rested his arms on the table so he could balance himself as he leaned forward.

"Chester," The anthropologist warned. Chester shrank back in his seat, but didn't offer an apology. Leonard would have to ask the anthropologist's name later. She seemed worth getting to know. "May I ask a question?"

"Go ahead." He smiled openly to her.

"What was your wedding like?"

Leonard paused. "Very...Vulcan. I don't even remember it." His smile broadened with the soft laughter that went around the table. Except from the anthropologist. Her the corner of her mouth was tilted up, but her eyes were cast down at her bowl in thought.

Del cleared away the conversation, instead bring up the idea of visiting the Art Quarter as a group.

 

* * *

  
  
With a hum in his throat and a spring in his step, Leonard pushed the gate open. The bells chimed cheerfully, welcoming him home. Even the leaves swaying in the evening breeze seemed glad to see him. He was happy to see them, too.

How beautiful the house looked now. As he slipped off his shoes on the porch, Leonard admired the shadows on the floor. Vines, so elegant, cutting shapes out of the colored light. His humming turned to the muttering of lyrics as he padded to the kitchen, muttering growing louder and clearer as he warmed his bowl of soup.

Spock had said he'd be home later than him. Leonard didn't expect the house to feel so empty with just him in it. It was odd, how one nice conversation could change how he viewed someone. Then again, he and Spock had never had one. Every encounter ended in a spat. He and Spock were like cats in an alley, just waiting to get the drop on the other. One moment it'd be peaceful, and the next, fur would be flying. It was refreshing just to talk.

Spock wasn't that bad of a guy. Just a little different, was all. Leonard would get used to him. They'd be the best of pals. Wouldn't that give Jim a scare?

The smile slipped off Leonard's face. He hoped Jim was alright out there. Space was so big, so dangerous, full of disease and death and war. A year was a long time in Starfleet. A very long time.

How many battles happened in a year? How many territories changed hands over only a year? How many parents spoke to their children one last time?

How many friends spoke to friends one last time?

Leonard knew better than anyone the power a year held.

He wished Spock would get home soon. He wanted to tell him about the plan to go to the Art Quarter. Maybe he could find something nice to send to Joanna. Now that he was on a stationary planet, it'd be easier to keep in contact with her. After all, she had a step-dad to get to know. What would Spock think about that one?

Hell, what was Jocelyn thinking? Her mother was filling her head with all kinds of awful things, no doubt. Estelle Darnell, the single most hateful human being to ever exist. Leonard just hoped Joanna moved far, far away from her Granny and only answered her calls on holidays. Otherwise, he was going to have a hell of a time trying to reconnect with her.

Estelle probably had a rumor running around that he was some kind of alien fetishist. That's why he left Joce, because he couldn't keep be satisfied with a human, he wanted them _cold_ and _green_ and _logical_. Pointed ears just drove him _wild_.

Taking his bowl outside, Leonard decided to eat on the steps. The double sunset was too pretty to pass up. He let the sweet calls of birds and humming insects soothe the worry from his mind. The echos of bells were almost like music.

Life could be good here.

 

* * *

 

Leonard had settled on the couch with his PADD by nightfall. He had gone through nearly all 65 patient profiles, and Spock still wasn't home. What was he supposed to do if he didn't come home? Who was he supposed to call? He tried to calm himself with the idea that Spock had underestimated the time. It was his first day. They probably had a lot to go over with him at the Science Academy.

Spock had probably landed some prestigious job, being a Starfleet officer and all. Leonard wouldn't ring him out, this time.

He heard the porch door open and sat up properly to greet him. Spock stepped into the house, his jaw set and shoulders pulled tightly back. Leonard could barely part his lips in welcome before Spock spat out, "I will not be eating tonight." And disappeared into his room.

Leonard sat still on the couch, quietly processing past moments. A first he was shocked, then anger swelled, but he forced it away. It wouldn't help to get mad. Not now. 

A rough first day. That's all it was.

Spock just needed to be left alone.

It would be better in the morning

 

 

 


	7. Platonic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy this while I wrestle with the next chapter.  
> TW: Mention alcoholism.

  
"Doctor."

Pushing up on his elbows, Leonard only caught the drape falling back over his doorway. The incense Spock burned last night still hung thick in the air. It reminded him of damp spices and freshly tilled soil.  
Tumbling out of bed, Leonard dressed in his new uniform and readied a few words for the breakfast table.

A good night's sleep should have fixed that damned mood Spock was in yesterday. Stomping past him like that, not even giving an explanation...the green-blooded, big eared...

Leonard was doing his best to not pick up where they left off. Sleep had eluded him for hours, abandoning him to his racing, suffocating thoughts. Images of exile swept around him, the idea of being stranded far away from civilization, far away from anything he never knew. Cultures that employed exile employed it well. It wouldn't be excommunication, they wouldn't be living in the shade of community and civilization; they'd be wiped from the map. They'd be stranded, far away.

The same image of exile returned, no matter how he tried to change it. They would be on a whole other planet, alone in a dead solar system, no way to reach out to others. It was extreme, so Leonard couldn't tell himself Vulcans would never do that. They didn't hesitate to execute M'Benga's career, they wouldn't hesitate to chuck Spock and Leonard outside the galaxy.

Something about it was tempting to ask, to really know what would happen if they were exiled. At least then he could stop torturing himself with the horrors of isolation.

Knowing might do the trick better than trying to believe he was safe. The Council's ruling was just a fear tactic, right? They were too advanced of a society to actually exile people. And even if they did, how were they supposed to know he and Spock were having martial troubles?

It never eased Leonard's mind, not for a moment. How'd they find out, he didn't know. They just would.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, he stepped onto the patio. The burned incense was chased away by the cold night air, then plomeek soup and warm bread. It granted him a sense of security, of haven. This place was different from inside, today was different from yesterday.

It was changed, it was different. It would be alright.

"G'mornin'," Leonard called out.

"What did you tell them?" Spock's voice cut through the chipper in Leonard's tone.

Leonard bit his cheek as he pulled out his chair, waiting for the sting of irritation to pass. "Oh," A sunny ghosted across his lips. "You mean the others at the Embassy? Nothin' important."

"What did you tell them?" Spock repeated, lifting his eyes. They were weighty, as steady as a panther's, as black as the void of space.

His face straightened, tone pressed flat. "Nothing."

Spock's stare seemed to double-down. He wasn't going to leave without his answer.

The urge to snap, to fight back rose. Leonard forced himself to look down at his soup, stirring it calmly. "They asked how we got married, and why, and I told them what anybody would assume." The silence stretched out, Leonard could feel eyes trying to drill through his skull. "Just the usual stuff. 'First came love, then came marriage', that kinda thing, I tried to make it seem as plain and as—"

Spock's bowl thumped against the table, and Leonard eased out a sigh. Steadily, it trailed back to him. The lecture against using 'emotion words' and to never insinuate a Vulcan, especially himself, actively participated in emotional expression.

"No one thought anythin' of it," Leonard lied. "They all forgot about it and moved on. 'Love' is a...it's a term." He leaned back in his chair, daring to face Spock. "It doesn't have to mean...'love love'. It can be—"

Spock's gaze fell back to his bowl. A hand reached out to take his slice of bread, and Leonard couldn't ignore how deliberate and methodical the motion was. "This was to your human co-workers?"

"Just them." He answered, watching as Spock bit into the bread. It seemed as though he was buying himself some time. Leonard wouldn't rush him.

"I believe," Spock's words were as methodical as his movements. "It would be best to leave their questions unanswered."

And Leonard agreed with a firm nod.

 

* * *

 

 

Never in his life had Leonard worked in such a dead office. Not a single appointment scheduled, no walk-ins, no calls, just silence all morning. It was a waste, having rushed through his patient files already and left himself with nothing to do. The only thing he had to keep himself busy was decorating his office between strolls to the drink machine.

Charlie and the nurses had vanished shortly after 'good mornings'. Not that Leonard minded.

Well, except maybe he did.

He wanted a little human contact. A little human contact that wasn't people pointing him out, wavering in his peripheral vision, armed with curiosity and grating remarks.

He missed the ship. He missed Christine. He missed Jim. As irritating as the young captain could be, Leonard loved him like family. If anything were to happen to him...

Leonard squeezed his eyes shut, massaging at his neck. This _headache._ It still wasn't budging. It only sat there, easing up at times, but never fading. At first, he thought he must be dehydrated, or stressed. So, he tried every quick fix he could get his hands on. All of them failed, even his last resort painkiller.

It was probably just stress, he told himself. He had soldiered on through worse headaches, with less sleep, with the weight of the entire world on his shoulders and lived through it. Granted, he had been a tad bit younger back then, but that didn't change the fact that he had to keep pressing on. It wasn't exactly hard labor in this office, he could probably even nap for the rest of the day, if he wanted.

Reaching into his last box, Leonard couldn't find anything that he wanted to set on a shelf. It didn't really speak well of a surgeon to have that many half-empty liquor bottles on display. Either it made him look like a kid who just came of age or it told of what he really was. What he really had been, anyways.

Leonard dropped into his chair with a huff. He looked around at his newly furnished office as he shoved the box of booze away under his desk. It would probably be safer at home, under his bed. Or maybe he should just give it away, if the rough days planned to keep rolling in. Leonard knew his patience and he knew his will; Spock was a hell of a force against both. The toe of his canvas shoe kept nudging at the box, the sound of clinking glass making his mouth dry. How Pavlovian.

Three quick raps on his door.

"Come in!" He called, tucking his legs underneath the chair.

Del stepped in, a familiar smile gracing her lips. "I thought I heard someone moving in."

Leonard smiled in return as she took in the make-over. Skulls and scalpels and specimens paired with antique diagrams and tools on the walls. A few books huddled together, 'medicine' mentioned somewhere on their spines. No family holiday holos, no gifts from children, no tacky coffee mugs, no figurines. Nothing of him and Spock.

"Everybody took off to see the shrike without you, huh?" She asked, resting a hip against his desk.

Leonard's brows creased together and her smile grew lop-sided.

"Don't feel left out, Charlie is _very_ excitable when it comes to giant raptors." She paused. "Well, he's just excitable.." She straightened up, gesturing for Leonard to follow. "We'll go see it together, now that you're settled in."

She was right. There was nothing for him to do but twiddle his thumbs. He would just find himself wrestling with temptation until he threw himself into busy work or the bottom of a bottle.

Del talked about simple things as they walked. She asked how he was settling in, if he had visited a market yet, if he had tried any other Vulcan dishes besides plomeek soup. Leonard didn't have to lie to her, and in turn, he listened to her talk about her favorite Vulcan teas, the wonderful markets throughout the city, and the beautiful parks.

She promised the Artisan Quarter trip would be fun. Leonard didn't doubt her. Anything would be a fun trip, at this point. Hell, this was a fun trip.

The journey from his office to the thick metal door labeled 'ZOOLOGY DEPARTMENT' was more fun than he'd had in weeks. Del moved comfortably in this space, knowing exactly where to go and who to ask for. It was obvious that there were no department rivalries, here.

"That the new doc?" A Boston accent chirped from behind the barred door Del knocked on. "Oh, yeah, hey, he is way tallah than ya think he'd be."

"Lee," Del scolded, casting an apologetic glance over her shoulder.

Leonard gave a good-natured smile as he stepped. Lee was somewhere closer to his age, head neatly shaved with pencil sketch tattoos of animals inked into her dark skin. Despite the dark circles under her eyes, she seemed to shine with untapped energy.

"Here for the shrike, right?" Lee asked needlessly, already leading them through cages and tanks. Most of them were darkened, little creatures scampering to hide from the passing shadows. Leonard could see the shimmer of scales in shallow pools and tufts of hair sneaking through the dried limbs of gnarled plants.

Lee opened one of the doors with her card, standing aside for Del and Leonard to go first. Nearly the entire room was dedicated to habitat for the bird. Curious watchers were crowded together in their narrow space, shoulders brushing as they chatted quietly. Leonard scanned over the scraggly branches and imitation cliff face, seeking out the star of the show. Shrikes were about the size of a robin, small enough to miss in this massive—

"Christ," He heard himself gasp. Hidden in a hallow of the cliff face, was a hooked beak, bigger than his shoe. It was caked with red dust, loose dirt trailing down from its curved talons. Leonard could only assume that it had carved out that hole for itself.

"She's big, huh?" Charlie grinned, eyes glinting wild. "She has a three meter wingspan. Three meters! I bet she could carry off a German shepherd. And just look at that beak. Serrated, like a knife, with such a crushing force behind it. Cuts through bone like its nothing!"

Leonard tried to stomach Charlie's dark excitement. He might be alone in this thought, but there was nothing fascinating about a ball of feathers and nails that could kill him. Rural outposts had given him his fill of demented wildlife. Yet, he couldn't tear his eyes away from the razor sharp beak, the sharp curve designed for ripping skin and tearing flesh from bone.

The door opened behind him and Lee stepped in, a ball of fur and long ears cradled in her arms. Around him, the small crowd made noises of amazement. Emerging from its hole, the shrike's head twitched this way and that, eyes trying to fix on the prey through the glass. Its beak opened and closed excitedly, the snapping audible through the barrier.

"Knows it's feedin' time, tha's all." Lee assured the wary few that weren't pressed against the glass.

"Woah, she's learned a schedule? In just two days?" Charlie's grin only grew.

"Hey, ya doan see 'Vulcan Shrike' at the top of Stellir's Animal Cognition List for nothin'." She scoffed in reply, sliding open the door next to Leonard and Del. "However doesn' wanna see a live feedin' betta leave now." She called out before closing the door behind her.

Clearing his throat, Leonard left first, Del and a handful of other people following behind him. He could handle guts and blood, being a surgeon, but he couldn't handle gore. He couldn't handle slaughter.

Beside him, Leonard noted the way Del held her own shoulder. Gears were churning in her mind, her teeth worrying at the edge of her lip.

"Do you know what a fossa was?" She asked, and he shook his head to her delight. "I'll show you something close."

Leonard didn't protest, letting her lead off their course and to the zoology office space. Del opened the door marked as Lee's, clicking her tongue to call to something inside. Part of him couldn't help but feel like they should turn around. It wasn't good etiquette to tramp around someone else's office.

When he wavered outside the door, Del only gestured him in with a broad smile. Tucked against the far wall was a cat stand, built from little houses and ropes and climbing poles. The more Del clicked and cooed, the louder the scratching grew, the one of the houses rocking with the motion inside it. Cautiously, he let himself into the room, expecting any nature of horrible creature to claw out.

Instead, a sleek furred face popped up. Bright, beady eyes and a twitching nose took him in. It chirped and purred, wrestling the rest of its weasel-like body out.

"This is Eel, he's a cathound." Del held her palm out the to creature, letting him sniff her palm before smoothing out his cinnamon fur. "They're popular house pets here. Have you seen them before?"

"I don't think I have..." Was all Leonard could say. He was far too fixated on just how large the animal was, his curled nails and the sharp teeth he flashed when he yawned.

With Del thoroughly checked for anything interesting, Eel turned his attention to Leonard. Mimicking Del, he held his palm out to the cathound, allowing him to lick the salt from his palm. One very human hand wrapped around Leonard's thumb, the other reaching further up his sleeve, tugging him closer with surprising strength. Leonard obliged him, only to have little paw-hands digging through his shirt pockets.

"Eel, you bad thing." Del scolded as Leonard chuckled.

"You're a smart critter, huh?" Leonard stroked Eel's long back, marveling at how silky his coat was. Eel searched him and came up empty. Leonard didn't carry pens or candy, and his pockets didn't have bits of lint to add to his nest. When he found the ring on the stranger's finger, Leonard hid his hand behind his back. With nothing to keep his attention, Eel slunk away into his house, settling with a loud sigh.

"You should come back with a piece of kevas for him." Del said as left for the medical wing. "They love kevas. And they really are friendly, very friendly. You'll see a lot of them when we go to the Art Quarter." She said, just before finding herself on a tangent about markets again.

Leonard didn't mind. He listened to her describe meals to him, and the best time to buy what produce, and tell him about the different music she had discovered here. They spent most of the day talking about anything and everything they could, and Leonard found himself going home with a pocketful of tapes to read and a few market recommendations.

His homesickness for the Enterprise was kept at bay, for now.

 

* * *

  
  
Evening birds chirped somewhere in the distance when Leonard opened his gate. The buildings around him were bathed in the fading light, setting the neighborhood to something warm and inviting. He paused just before the porch steps, looking back at the closed gate. Then he moved forward, setting his tapes on his nightstand, reaching up to undo his shirt.

The colors of sunset were peeking over his neighbor's roof, beckoning him out.

It was much too pretty of an evening to waste inside.

Leonard decided to take a short stroll. Just a few minutes outside. He wasn't too sure about the crime rate of Vulcan suburbs, but surely Spock would have warned him if it was dangerous. Of course, he very well could have, when Leonard was stubbornly blocking him out.

Leonard cleared his mind with a deep breath when he was on the sidewalk, reaching his arms high over his head. Sunlight kissed at his palms, a dry breeze playing with the hem of his shirt, and he found his thoughts drifting to better places. Places like the coiled little cacti growing out of a neighbor's wall, or the mosaic of green and blue on another's gate, the willow-like tree that leaned over onto the street.

A smile spread across his lips as he ran his fingers through it, the silky leaves tickling at the skin between his knuckles. The air seemed sweeter here than it did in front of the house. He decided to press further, circle the block, just to find out what was there. Mostly, it was houses and plants and statues, nothing he hadn't seen before.

Then, drifting up to his ears like a siren song, was the trickling of water. Leonard stopped, searching the still air for the sound, following it cautiously. Down a short street and to the left, a lattice fence and open gate greeted him, nimble vines coiled up and up over the rising dome. Narrow walkways chased off from the main sidewalk, dividing the rocks and groomed sands. The sound of running water grew clearer, and the urge to follow with it. Leonard hoped this was a park and not someone's fancy backyard.

After checking around him, he followed a shady path, the sprawling fountain coming into view. It was nothing fancy, just the image of a woman pouring water from a basin, surrounded by faucets that sprayed up around her.

Leonard perched on the edge, dipping his fingers into the cold water. He was surprised to not see pennies littering the bottom, only the mosaic of lilliputian words, circling the statue. For a moment, Leonard wished he could read Vulcan. He wished the spirals and vines and circles made sense.

Much of his Starfleet career was spent being illiterate. Sure, spoken language could be taken care of by his translator, but there was nothing to help with signs and books.

For a while, Starfleet had issued such a device. Leonard had nearly gotten his hands on one, just before it was deemed a 'wasteful expense' and the program was cut, devices recalled. Pushing aside his bitterness at the system, he tilted his head back, letting his eyes roam over the leafy dome shading him.

He wondered if this was the place Spock had wanted to show him. If he ever found himself in a better mood and did take him here, Leonard would just have to act surprised. His hand swished idly through the water, taking in the beautiful rock and sand garden. Dark greys and blues. Such cool and calming colors, when he was so used to having a panicky red sky dominating his view.

The suns began disappearing behind the mountains, leaving him to find his way back home in the dark. Not that it was difficult. Unlike Earth suburbs, these houses all had something distinct about them, allowing him to find his way back to his own gate. Though, the twinkling of bells was a bit off-putting in the dark.

Kicking off his dusty shoes and settling in on the couch, Leonard decided to wait up one more night for Spock. The morning hadn't gone...terribly. Spock might come home in a better mood. They might even exchange a few words. Peaceful words. 'How was your day', 'it was fine', that kind of thing.

It would be a stretch from he other conversations they had.

So, Leonard settled in with a taped book. A fantasy book. Not a medical journal, as had been his constant go-to reading material for...decades. This was just a book for fun. And he found himself flipping through page after page, pressing on even when his vision grew blurry and eyelids heavy. He just had to wait up for Spock, he told himself. This was keeping him awake.

It didn't matter that he fell asleep on the couch that night, and missed Spock's return.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, we're solving the Spock problem in the next one.

**Author's Note:**

> CJtheShort.tumblr.com


End file.
